The Akara Files 04: Face to Face
by Aroihkin
Summary: One can only dangle something in Raistlin's face for so long before he will finally snatch it up. His magic, his Tower, the fear and respect of others... and now, perhaps, one clever thief who has escaped his grasp for six long years...
1. Book By Another Cover

**Originally written:**  
08.12.2005

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_How did you get this number?  
__I can't get my head 'round you  
__Of course you're not coming over  
__Snap out of it  
__You're not making any sense_

- Frou Frou - Psychobabble

* * *

"Akara! You've got ma-aa-aa-ail!" the tavern-keeper's son bounded up to the bar of the _Golden Hourglass_, where a particularly sleepy thief sat with one side of her face propped up in the palm of one hand, her other wrapped around a mug of hot tea. It was evening in Palanthas, which meant that it was merely early morning for her. _Very _early morning. It took said thief a moment or three before the words sank in.

"Wait, what? What do you mean, I've got mail?" she asked, turning to stare at the package the kid had in his hands. The tavern-keeper herself leaned over the bar to look, as well. It was a slow evening so far, so there wasn't a lot to keep the staff of the place occupied. Akara usually preferred the quiet evenings, but it had its disadvantages, too.

"That's what I said! It just showed up a few minutes ago on the steps. Poof! Right in front of me," he held it up to her face, "See? It's got your name on it! I've never seen you get mail before, it's gotta be something interesting. Feels heavy, too."

"Well now, that _is _interesting," said one of the regulars, a few spots down the polished bar, "go on and open it up, Akara."

Akara took the package and set it down next to her tea, untying the string wrapped carefully around the expensive parchment. The paper was cautiously unfolded - after all, the kid was right, she never got mail. Inside sat two crisp, new, leather-bound books with golden inlay in the title. "What the...?"

The thief lifted the top book, only to find a folded card of vellum stuck between the two outwardly-identical volumes. She flicked it open.

"___**The top copy is for yourself. The other is for your supporting family,**_" the card read, "**_happy accumulative birthing days and merry accumulative Yules. ~Raistlin Majere_**"

"What is-?" The bartender had reached over, picking up the bottom copy and reading the gold-inlaid title out loud. "An account of Akara Krinir, Master Thief by... Raistlin Majere." Eyes fixed on Akara from all over the room; this place was named _the Golden Hourglass _for a reason; it was usually filled with those who liked to speculate on the archmage in his dark tower. It was why Akara herself stayed here, as well, because she always had an ear out for new information on the guy, even now that she'd given up on their game.

To have the name attached to a mysterious package... and _shit_. It called her a master thief. Akara was suddenly quite awake, watching in dread as the bartender opened the book up.

"Lemme see! Lemme see!" the kid was climbing up onto a barstool to see the books. Akara, numb with shock, flipped open the cover of the book in her hand... the one she was supposed to keep. There, familiar, blood-splattered, wrinkled pages made up the first dozen pages before resuming in that same angular writing on new, smooth and clean pages.

_The ones Raistlin ripped out of that book when he saw me! He was... writing a story? About me?_

Akara stared, glazed-eyed, at the wall over everyone's heads for several moments as her carefully-constructed world crashed down around her. These people had always been friendly while assuming she was an artist, but they wouldn't once they realized that the 'thief' part of these books wasn't fictional. Not to mention...

She abruptly scooped the card into the book in her hand, shutting it. Akara plucked the other out of the bartender's grasp, too fast and nimble to be expected, and immediately went for the stairs.

She needed to pack her meager possessions and leave town. _Now._


	2. My Bad Habit

**Originally written:**  
08.12.2005

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_I'm gonna fuck it up again  
I'm gonna do another detour  
Unpave my path  
And if you wanna make sense  
Whatcha looking at me for  
I'm no good at math_  
- Fiona Apple - A Mistake

* * *

Frantic as her thoughts were as she hurried upstairs and then climbed the rope, she didn't immediately notice the black-robed figure standing in the far corner as she pulled herself up into her loft room. Akara was actually halfway across the room before the figure stiffened and turned away from her meager book case, watching her levelly from beneath a black hood, one of her books held in both delicate, golden-skinned hands.

The thief stopped dead in her tracks, caught in that unforgettable stare. "M-Majere!" Akara whispered, taking a step backwards. "W... what are you d-doing here?"

"It has been over a year and a half," he said, softly, "and you have never returned."

"N-no... I didn't, did I," the thief cleared her throat, backing away another step even though he hadn't moved from where he stood, "I wonder why that is..."

The archmagus released her from his stare long enough to turn the book over in his hands, running one set of fingertips over the well-used cover. He looked lost in thought for a moment, and Akara managed to retreat several more paces before he raised his eyes to her again, trapping her in place. "I still frighten you, even here in your own domain?" It was a rhetorical question, and they both knew it. Akara didn't reply; he didn't seem to expect her to.

Raistlin turned for a moment to place the book back on its shelf, a detailed accounting of the War of the Lance that she'd scored in a card game downstairs a few years ago. The thief took the opportunity to take several more steps back, not daring to turn her back on him for even a moment. He could move wicked-fast, she knew. Way faster than he looked like he should.

_What frightens me now? _she wondered, _Is it that he could kill me in a matter of seconds? No... it can't be. I've always welcomed that, haven't I? _Akara, always so careful to never look too closely at herself, found that she had to examine the situation. If nothing else, because it was Raistlin who was involved. _He's like a very poisonous snake that I keep insisting on holding my hand out to, waiting for the time he bites me just so I can say 'told you so' to myself.  
_  
"Why are you here?" she asked in a shaky voice, after he had turned back and frozen her mid-step once more, pinned by that golden gaze.

"I should think the answer obvious," he rasped quietly.

_I'm terrified. _"Humor me," Akara whispered, eyes widening as he started to approach. _No, no, keep your distance!_ The thief thought frantically, retreating hastily as he came closer. She yelped loudly in surprise when her leading foot encountered nothing but air, and began to fall backwards through the open trapdoor-

A golden-tinted hand locked around her scarred wrist, and the mage braced against his staff while she pulled herself upright. Her other hand still held the two books he'd sent. Akara stammered a bit of nervous nothingness and tried to take her wrist back from him, but much like over a year and a half ago, his grip did not budge. Raistlin instead stared at the scars under his fingers. "These..."

"Your bite is worse than your bark, archmagus," the thief said with a nervous, slightly-unhinged laugh, snatching her wrist back as he finally released her and stepped away.

"You are frightened," said the most feared man on all of Krynn.

Akara snorted. "I think we've already established this, Majere."

"Is it the good kind of fear," his gaze bore into her, nearly palpable in its intensity, "or the bad?"

"Oh gods," the thief choked, "I don't- you remember that? I don't want to know. Please, just get away from me..." But as always, Raistlin seemed to think that the opposite was in order. He reached forward and took her by both elbows in a firm grip, drawing her away from the open trap door. "Majere..."

"Which is it?" he repeated.

"B-both..." she said, in a small voice, her shoulders hunching as though reflexively making herself a smaller target. "I-" Akara swallowed, "I want you to let go of me."

"Literally, or figuratively?" asked the Archmage, his expression unreadable in the shadows of his hood.

"Both!" Akara snarled, suddenly angry for a reason she couldn't place. "I want you to keep the hell away from me, Majere! You're so dangerous that it's _addicting_, but at the same time..."

"Yes?" Raistlin prompted, sounding a touch breathless in the face of her sudden anger.

"Why do you insist on knowing everything there is to know about everything you encounter?" she snapped, and then paused to wonder if her words made any sense. Apparently, it did. Raistlin pulled away from her, just a bit, and his stare turned quietly contemplative.

"It is... what I do," he replied, finally, shrugging his thin shoulders beneath the thick velvet of his robes and cloak, "you pick locks... I pick minds."

"You shouldn't say that to a thief," Akara snapped, not really thinking about it. "We all know that it's pretty damn intimate for the lock."

Raistlin's sardonic smirk was visible even in the darkness of his hood. "Indeed it is."

Wondering where she'd lost track of this entire conversation, the thief found herself taking stock of the situation. She was standing a mere arms-length away from Raistlin, his hands on her elbows, his stare boring into her skull like she was something to be dissected (or picked), and still no real explanation for any of it. Downstairs the city guard was probably being notified that hey, Akara Krinir was a freaking _thief_, come get her! And said thief felt her left eye start to twitch, just slightly. Deep breath in, deep breath out, and then...

The world outside _roared_. Here on the third level of the _Golden Hourglass_, the floor shook badly enough that she grabbed Raistlin's arms to keep from tumbling backwards again, the thin books he'd written falling out of her grip. Another shock through the floor followed immediately, and she looked to the mage, wondering (with reason!) what the fuck was going on.

But he looked mostly surprised, himself. Clear across the room, the glass pane of her expensive window shattered. The thief winced.

"I should never have rolled out of bed this afternoon," Akara commented once the rumbling had stopped, her heart hammering in her ribs and her adrenalin rising to the challenge like an old friend, "I just _knew_ it was going to be one of those nights."

Raistlin blinked at her, and Akara couldn't contain her somewhat feral grin. "What's the worried look for? It's only a bunch of explosions strong enough to knock a three-story inn around," she pried her elbows out of his grip and went to the window, plain boots crunching on fragments of glass. The cat-burglar took a deep breath before continuing on a more serious note, not looking at him.

"This... this right here, is the kind of fear I'm good with. Not so much your creepy stalker shit." Akara peered out the window, past the tall tree just outside, and then pointed before the archmage could steer things back to being about him. Wasn't everything about him, anyway? Did it all have to be examined and dissected? It was all over, anyway, she'd never sneak into his tower again.

"And look," speaking of the tower, "someone's trying to roast your home."

Raistlin didn't seem very concerned. "The Conclave, I would presume," he said, but didn't approach the window, "they have undoubtably grown tired of waiting for me to make a move."

"It looks like someone is firing back, from... the Death Walk?" Not much could really be seen but flashes of fire from here in the dark, even without buildings in the way. But she knew the Tower's layout; knew the height of its various parts, even now. It didn't even take thought, her world had revolved around it for so long.

"My apprentice," Raistlin sounded arrogantly dismissive, "you will not have met him."

"Obviously, Majere," Akara allowed herself to snark, "since I've been avoiding you like the fucking plague. But tell me, isn't the timing a little strange?"

"Not if the Conclave had notice of my departure," he sounded vaguely amused, here, like he was silently laughing at someone. Akara glanced at the Archmage with suspicion, but had the impression that it wasn't aimed at her... for once.

"Another question," she said slowly, watching him.

"By all means," Raistlin gestured vaguely at the room, "I am at your disposal."

"If the tower is so indestructible," Akara asked carefully, "_why_ is your apprentice bothering to fire back?"

"I would imagine it involves a sense of self-preservation," his tone was dry, but Akara _knew _that was an amused glint in his golden eyes, barely visible under his hood.

Akara felt her eyebrows climb upwards a bit. "Ohhh... I see. Your apprentice has a surprise coming to him later, doesn't he?"

Raistlin inclined his head, a bit of light from the window catching his smirk. But Akara's attention was snapped back to the open window itself, breath hitching suddenly as something very faint caught her eye. Movement, coming up the tree.

"Hide!" the thief hissed at him, almost too-quietly. Majere at least didn't question or argue, he simply stepped out of the window's line of sight. There into the darkness to one side, where the moonlight and bursts of distant fire didn't illuminate him at all.

Akara meanwhile ducked, rolling onto the straw pallet to get closer to the window-sill. She ignored the stinging bits of glass that bit into her back... worse had happened on missions without her so much as yelping. She pressed flush against the wall, on her side, her hand digging under her sleeping pallet for her kitchen knife. After the last visit to the tower, she'd started keeping a blade around. Even if she didn't really know how to use it...

The thief glanced towards where Raistlin stood, his hood hiding any trace of skin or hair that might have glinted oddly. Just another bit of night unless you knew where he was, darker than the shadows around him. She wouldn't give the interloper a chance to notice that last detail, where the soft black loomed as an unnatural blot of ink in the lighter shadows.

Moments later, though it seemed like much longer, a leg eased itself into the room over her hidden form. Before Akara could rise and strike from behind as she'd thought to do, there was a loud swish and a thunk, and the intruder crumpled under the Staff of Magius. Akara raised both of her eyebrows at the archmage, who stayed out of sight of the window still, before shaking her head and creeping for the body.

Leave it to the black-robe to completely screw up her plan. What had she bothered hiding for at all? Pfft. Akara reached the stranger then, and in a very showy manner, she heaved the intruder up to the sill, and shoved him out. "Hey, you creeps!" Akara yelled out at no-one in particular, putting her hands on the sill and leaning out. "What's the big idea, eh?"

Raistlin pulled her back abruptly, managing to grab a fist-full of the back of her tunic while still staying carefully hidden from the light. An arrow whizzed past where she'd been, and thunked into the floor. Akara shoved his hand off of her back and stalked angrily across the room, yanking open a secret compartment in the wall and pulling out her mask. As often as Akara had always ended up taunting her prey and her prey's guards, it had always been necessary for non-Raistlin missions in Palanthas.

Especially when she'd suddenly started to gain a reputation again, the stories of her exploits... elsewhere leaking out, somehow. The thief stormed back up to the window and leaned out again, holding her mask up into clear view with one hand. Ordinarily the thin, carved wood was held onto her face by a sort of scarf with eyes, nose, ear, and mouth holes. All it did was change the shape of her features, she didn't allow it to hinder any of her senses.

But she was the only thief she knew of in Krynn who used a wooden mask quite like this one. "Hey, you jerks see this! Eh? Would you still like to fuck with me, or are you going to tell me what th'fuck you're doing trying to break into my place?" she was silent for a moment, "And you creeps skulking around on the roof better pay attention, too! Gods-damned amateurs with your plain boots... think you're real sneaky, don't ya? Well, you're not!"

The near-imperceptible scuffling from above stopped abruptly. "You're the-" someone started to shout from out in the dark somewhere, but she interrupted them.

"Damn right I am! Now what's the meaning of all of this? And if you dare name me that loudly, bucko, I'm going to come down there and kick you in the nuts. Don't think I won't!"

There were no more repeats of the almost-naming. "We've been hired to search all the buildings in Palanthas tonight," a different voice said from below, and Akara could hear someone climbing the tree. She pulled her mask on quickly, holding it in place with one hand... the other still held the knife out of view.

Within a few moments she was mask-to-face with a solitary thief whose bearing suggested that he was the leader of this pack.

"Searching for what, trouble?" she snorted, once he'd stopped climbing. "You found it."

"We seek the whereabout of the archmage, Raistlin Majere."

"Well, he obviously isn't _here_, you dimwit," Akara rolled her visible eyes, "You lot know I don't deal with mages except to rob them." Or at least, that was what everyone said... just because she never _used_ magic herself, and she targeted mage after mage, trying in vain to recapture the rush of her exploits involving a certain black-robe. It had never worked. They all paled in comparison.

"Of course, of course," the leader was quick to agree, "You wouldn't mind if we looked around, then?"

"Oh, yes I _would_ mind," Akara spat, "you just want to have a 'look' around to fill your pockets! Now, I'm telling you one last time before I knock you out of your tree with this bucket of rocks I've got in here: get lost."

The supposed leader of the other thieves looked _murderous_ at the threat. He advanced a step along the tree-branch toward her, and Akara raised her rather large bit of kitchen cutlery into view, making the threat clear. But that wasn't what stopped the other thief.

"Never mind this inn," a commanding voice said from below the tree, "We're wasting too much time here. He won't even be this close to the Tower, he's too smart for that." And with that, the entire troop moved away, the one on the branch shooting Akara a withering look before he climbed down the tree.

Akara made sure he was looking again when she stuck out her tongue at him. Finally, once Akara was sure that she the only thief in the immediate area, she lowered her mask. But she didn't lower her knife, turning to Raistlin with it leveled at him.

"You," she pointed with the cutlery, advancing on the entirely unconcerned Archmagus. "You planned this, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," Raistlin noted calmly, "you surely do not think this was coincidence."

There was a long, tense pause. "Well, alright, then," Akara said, lowering the blade, "it's not like I didn't already know you're nuts. But why did you pick my birthing day to taunt the Conclave like this?"

Raistlin might have smiled, but he tipped his head down just enough that his black hood hid his expression before she could be certain. She peered intently at him and could not pierce the darkness... shadowed inside a dark room.

"You enjoy danger," the archmagus finally said, "do you not?"

"You're kind of sick, Majere," said the cat-burglar, "you know that, right?" His response was an unconcerned shrug, and Akara gave a nervous laugh. "So, you obviously ought to leave town for a while."

"They cannot keep me from my tower." Raistlin sounded a bit offended, Akara shook her head.

"Oh, I know that, but why go back yet? Let your apprentice sweat steel for a while and the Conclave wet their robes a bit wondering where you're lurking, yeah?" she could have sworn she felt him smirk, though the darkness of his hood hid any such thing. "Well, either way, I'd better be leaving town myself," Akara sighed, the rush of the earlier moments wearing off.

She eyed the mask in her hand before setting the knife aside and going to pick up the books on the floor. "Everyone knows where I stay, now... and what I do, thanks to you. It won't be long before they figure out _who_ I am, too, even if I go to another inn. It doesn't help that your book gives my profession away at a fucking glance, either. I thought you were supposed to be the subtle one?"

Raistlin said nothing for a long moment as Akara pulled several empty loot-bags out of the hidden compartment in the wall and began to empty her few shelves. She didn't keep much in the way of possessions, at least, and a good portion of her money was still stashed in the Shoikan Grove. But it didn't take much to maintain the thief, as long as she could keep busy. She had perhaps a half a dozen books besides the two the mage had just sent her, and all of them went in first. Then the dark scarf cut for her mask.

"Your back is bleeding," Raistlin spoke suddenly, from much closer than Akara had placed him. She jumped, startled. There weren't many people who could move around without her tracking them effortlessly, but Majere was the exception to a lot of things.

"Oh... the glass. Yeah, I felt that. Not worth fussing over right now, I'll wait until I stop for the mor... ning..." her voice trailed off as nimble fingers began to pluck bits of glass away. Nothing had bitten deeply or dramatically, at least. Just enough to sting a bit. "...Majere?"

"There is surely more, but that takes care of most of it," he said after a few minutes of tiny, sharp tugs that she as often felt through the tunic shifting as through her skin.

"You're doing this just to creep me out all over again, aren't you?" Akara asked suspiciously.

"No," the reply was too easy, and she wouldn't have believed it in any tone. Akara stepped away from him, wordlessly opening a small trunk. A few sets of tightly-bundled clothing... all of it plain, cheap, and dyed a dark brown - the ideal color for truly blending into the shadows. She resumed stuffing her bags, wrapping the wooden mask in a tunic. Maybe if she ignored him...

"Where will you go, then?" Raistlin asked, staying where she'd left him.

"I don't know. Back to my city, I suppose..." Akara pulled her plain boots and worn socks off and stuffed them inside the bag before taking her working boots from the trunk and rolling them onto her feet and up her legs. This was all done on one foot, alternating between the two, and the leather didn't lace. It stretched.

"A city?" the soft curiosity in his voice, she believed was quite real.

"Yeah. It's not on any maps you'll find around here," the legs of her pants were pulled up a few inches and tied securely with lengths of cord, giving her ankles as much movement as they wanted without the swishing of fabric to give her away.

"Ah... do you go back to make amends with your family, then?" he sounded genuinely interested. Akara paused, one foot in hand, to look at him for a moment.

"Impossible," the thief finally said, shaking her head before plucking a pair of familiar gloves from the trunk

"How so? Your mother is a red-robe, is she not?" Majere sounded quite reasonable, of course, as though the color of her mother's robes meant everything as far as how they'd get along was concerned.

"Was," Akara snapped the empty trunk shut with a bit more force than absolutely necessary, before tying off the bag with the clothing and books, "and she probably would have taken me back in, if I vowed to never lift another purse on threat of broken fingers, settle down, and marry one of those creepy old assholes she and the rest of them had picked out for me."

"She is... dead?" Raistlin asked next, tone unreadable.

"She is. She died a few years after I was kicked out... a sickness of some sort, I don't know. I wasn't able to find out much as the local nameless thief," Akara shrugged. "More likely she was offed, but no one _listens_ to the local nameless thief, either."

"And your father?" the mage asked, stepping closer.

"Got himself a new wife. Another mage, even... black-robe. I don't think you would like her much, though... she's more interested in money than in actual power. Has him wrapped around her evil little finger, too."

It was Raistlin's turn to shrug, "Sharing magical allegiances hardly makes for a connection, no."

"She'd fawn all over _you_, though, I imagine," Akara snorted, "my mother was a real fan of you Heroes of the Lance... she'd have invited you in for tea, and her admiration was out of genuine appreciation for what you lot did. My father's new wife..."

"Your stepmother," Majere supplied.

"Not really. I've never lived with her. Anyway, she'd invite you in for tea in the hopes of snagging you for one of her plots. The archmage of the Tower of Palanthas has to have some money laying around getting dusty, right? She might even try to get you hitched to someone she controls. Or something. I don't know, she's a fucking piece of work."

Raistlin chuckled darkly at that, "So, she would wish to... inherit me."

"Right, just like any of the nobility that crossed the street in front of the house," Akara sighed, shoving the surprisingly heavy small chest to the side. Beneath it, several of the floorboards had been cut away, making another hidden cache. This wasn't filled with gold and jewels as one would expect from a thief of her reputation, but with a single scroll-case.

"And so, what would happen if I accompanied you to your city?"

The cat-burglar snorted at that. "Easy. They'd pretend they hadn't the foggiest idea who I was, but they'd be quick to pull you into the house for supper," the case was lifted, the strap slung over her shoulder. Akara moved to the desk. "Why, Majere? Looking for someplace to wait out all the fuss? Just make sure you don't get roped into anything you don't want to get roped into while you're there."

There were only a few items to be taken off the desk. A new rope and grappling hook... her original had been left in the tower over a year ago. And her belt with the dangling pouches that so resembled a mage's spell components.

"Lady's got a _big_ nose," Akara lied, feeling strangely defensive all of the sudden. "It's kind of terrifying."

"I see," Raistlin's tone made her pause, turning to stare at him. He'd pushed his hood back, she noticed, and his golden eyes seemed to pierce her mind. "And what would happen if I accompanied you to your city-" the archmage interrupted her with a raised finger before she could make a sound, having opened her mouth to reiterate what she'd just said. "...If I accompanied you to your city, to the Krinir house, and informed your father that I was courting his daughter?"

Akara felt like she'd been hit in the back of the head with the Staff of Magius. "Wh... wait, _what_?" her knees gave out, she grabbed the desk for support.

"My dear thief, you think I would not lie to your family?"

"Oh... oh," Akara blinked. "I supposed they'd drag us _both_ into the house, then, and pretend I'd never been disowned in the first place. But that would only last until they realized it was fake. But why would you do that? You could stay anywhere you wanted until this mess is fixed. Or, like you said, you could just go back to your tower," it took her a few moments before she realized something else, "Hey, wait... who said we were traveling together, anyway!"

Raistlin simply gave a sardonic little smirk in reply.


	3. Invisible Trap

**Originally written:**  
08.14.2005

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_But I never really was the purest one  
Though I try to cleanse my soul with every sun  
And I just get deeper in the same shit doesn't everyone  
Close my eyes and play along _  
- Etro Anime - Purest One

* * *

"How do you plan to get out of this city, anyway?" Akara asked, tying off her second - and last - bag. Just as she did whenever she looted a house, the thief then proceeded to sling the bags over her shoulders and tie them down. Oddly-long drawstrings fit through loops in the bottoms of the bags, creating a sort of tied-off scabbard out of each, with no openings left. "You're not exactly the rooftop-runner I am, y'know."

The mage didn't say anything for a moment, and Akara raised an eyebrow. Did he look... amused? "I brought a horse," Raistlin informed her.

"So you plan to just... ride on out of Palanthas?" the thief scoffed, and now she was _sure_ that he looked amused. "Oh yeah, I can see how that'll work. They'll totally just open the gates for you and wave you on through, too."

"I will cast a spell of invisibility on myself," the mage answered, as though this had already been considered.

"Because no one will suspect a horse trotting along without a rider," Akara rolled her eyes, "that's a brilliant plan. Amazing. I know you think the rest of us are all idiots, Majere, but some things just ain't going to work."

"Two people can fit in one saddle," Raistlin sounded oddly patient, despite her barbs.

"Oh, you want me to ride as well? That'll work so well. I suppose they'll believe I'm controlling the horse from..." comprehension dawned suddenly, "oh, _no_. Besides, I can't steer a horse!"

"I will assist you," Raistlin said softly, and he smirked knowingly when her cheeks colored. "Ah, perhaps you will even enjoy yourself, my dear thief."

"You're an evil bastard," Akara scrubbed at her face with her hands.

"So I have heard," the mage replied mildly.

Akara snorted, and grabbed the knife off of the floor before heading down the trapdoor's rope. Majere followed, using one of his staff's more recorded abilities to cast featherfall, rather than using the rope. The hall was well-lit, unlike the room above, and the thief frowned. Something was off.

"Gods, you're even wearing traveling robes!" Akara realized out loud, gesturing to the slit robes and the pants beneath his cloak, "You had this entire thing planned out from start to finish, didn't you?"

"You are easily manipulated," he replied, unconcerned, "The direct consequences of my actions were easily predicted." At her incredulous stare, he continued, "Although I admittedly had no interest in going to your city until you mentioned that it is not on any local maps."

"Ah, I get it now. Hoping to find something interesting in Krontis?" Akara stared at him.

"Possibly. I never could resist a mystery. Now," he pulled his hood up to hide his face once more, "perhaps we should proceed?"

"Why a horse?" Akara asked as they descended the stairs. She set the knife on the main kitchen table with a sheepish grin at the cook, who stared at the mage. Even with his hood up, it was fairly obvious who was trailing the thief like a living, inky-black shadow, and this place was stuffed full of people who had an interest in someone with golden-skinned hands and a dragon claw-tipped staff.

She shook her head, and the cook shrugged. The people here were also remarkably good at minding their own business, usually. It was another part of why she'd picked the place.

"The spell will not last long enough to leave Palanthas on foot," the mage said as they slipped out of the back door of the building and crossed the courtyard. The moment they entered the stable, however, Raistlin's breath hitched from the hay and dust, and he bent into a coughing fit.

Akara simply waited for it to pass.

Sharing a saddle with anyone was creepy and a bit too close for comfort. Sharing a saddle with someone under an invisibility spell was all of that and _awkward as hell_, to boot. Akara gulped audibly as the archmagus settled into place behind and against her. She tried unsuccessfully to not blush when an invisible arm wrapped around her waist, and an equally-invisible hand took hers.

This was so weird!

"Hold both reins in this hand, your other goes here-" the arm around her waist left just long enough for another hand to guide her other to the horn-like object on the saddle in front of her, "-for balance."

The very visible Staff of Magius was buckled into a special bit of tack by her knee, its unique top covered in another empty loot bag of Akara's. The bags she'd had tied across her back were now laced down on top of the archamagus' own saddlebags, and her scroll case had been lashed down as well. The horse... black, of course... didn't seem to care about the extra weight or the fact that one of its riders wasn't visible. It was probably used to weird shit by now.

Akara's feet were in straps the mage had called stirrups, one hand on the saddle, one hand holding the reins, and the object of her six-year obsession was pressed intimately against her back, with his shallow breathing warming her ear.

This, was an awkward situation. There was just no other way to put it.

"I feel completely off balance," she muttered, hunching her shoulders as the horse obediently moved out of the stable at a jarring trot, Raistlin's hand on hers guiding the leather reins.

"Just don't fall off," he whispered against her neck, and his arm around her waist tightened. Akara shivered, but then tensed as she felt more than saw a slip of shadow approach. The other thief barely glanced at her before continuing on, searching for the elusive black-robe with the bounty on his whereabouts.

She didn't relax, though, because that was when Raistlin's lungs chose to rebel again.

He dropped her hand, wrapping his other arm around her waist and burying his face in her back. The ragged coughs shook them both, even worse than the horse's trot, and Akara was quick to drop the reins in favor of hanging onto the saddle with both hands.

And the horse, nervous from all of the tension and with literally free-rein... changed from a trot to a gallop in a matter of moments. _Oh, crap! _Akara clung to the saddle for dear life, Raistlin hung onto her, and the horse swerved off-course down a side street.

"Grab the reins!" Raistlin shouted over the wind rushing past and the sound hooves on cobblestone.

"I can't, damn you, they're..." she tried, anyway, reaching forward with one hand while the horse seemed inclined to mostly follow a straight course. Akara leaned around the animal's neck, her stomach practically on the saddle-horn, and she still couldn't reach the whipping bits of leather, "...out of reach..."

"Sit back, then!" the invisible mage snarled, "we must stop!"

"Fine!" Akara sat back abruptly, the back of her head encountering Raistlin's face in the process, and the archmage swore far more colorfully than Akara had realized he _could_. The horse began to slow down, obviously taking some kind of cue from them sitting this way, until finally it came to a confused halt, tossing its head.

"Now... very slowly... the reins," Raistlin said quietly, mindful that he wasn't supposed to be there at all to any onlookers. Akara once again leaned forward over the saddle horn, reaching with one hand. Now that the horse wasn't running, they did seem to be a bit closer... her fingertips grazed one.

"Barely out of reach... why can't I just get off of the horse?" she whispered back, before (slowly, this time) sitting back up again.

"If she spooked and took off without you, my cover would be quickly ruined," Majere replied in turn. "Figure out a way."

"Oh, true," Akara drummed her fingers on the saddle horn, "Then hand me the bag on our right?"

There was a pause, and then the bag in question was handed up. The thief pulled the top open and plucked her grappling hook out, before leaning forward and snagging first one rein, and then the other, with the dull black hooks.

"Got 'em." Akara said, pulling the second one back and then replacing the hook in the bag. She blindly handed this back to Raistlin, and turned to watch as it seemingly tied itself back down. "That's pretty freaky. Wait... won't people suspect something, with objects floating around like that?"

"They may, if seen. But they would not know that it was me. Now, the spell will not last much longer... we must go," and at the tightening of his legs that Akara could feel behind her own, the horse took its cue and began forward once more.

Palanthas was finally in the distance.

The horse came to a halt, and Akara immediately jumped off. Her legs were unexpectedly wobbly, though, and she went down with a yelp of surprise into an undignified heap almost the instant she was back on stable ground. "Ughhh..."

Raistlin was now clearly visible in the barest of pre-dawn light. When the thief glanced up at him, he was looking far too amused.

"I'm just not used to this stuff," Akara muttered, putting her hands down and struggling for a moment to get her feet under her. Her legs just didn't want to cooperate! Finally, she managed to stand up, if only barely. _A good puff of wind could knock my knees out from under me! Why do people ride horses so much?  
_  
Raistlin also dismounted, appearing only slightly awkward from a lack of recent practice. He pulled the Staff of Magius free from the saddle and walked calmly around the animal to stand next to Akara. "While we are taking a break," something in his voice made her shiver, and she backed away a step, "I have more questions for you, my dear."

"You always have questions." Akara huffed, crossing her arms. But whatever it was the archmagus proceeded to say, she didn't hear.

Akara's eyes locked on something past his ear, up into the darkness of the tree branches. The fact that his mouth was moving was of no consequence, and the hair on the back of her neck stood straight up on end, by the feel of it.

Her skin crawled.

Something was not right, here. It felt a lot like all those near-calls when touching a doorknob she'd been reaching for would have ended with Majere standing a foot from her, and her cover blown. Danger. Unseen, but there.

"Raistlin..." Akara was barely aware she was speaking, her eyes widening... and then... the tension seemed about to burst, and she heard the faintest of clicks. "Raistlin... get _down!_" That, she definitely heard tear out of her throat as she lunged forward and grabbed the startled mage's shoulders.

She felt like she was sprinting through deep water... the twang of a crossbow string echoed in her mind far louder than any other sound as she _wrenched_ Raistlin around to shield him. The bolt tore into her shoulder, and Akara dropped like a stone, letting go of the black robes in her hands.

Magical energy flared overhead, launching into the tree... somebody screamed... it might have been her, or it might have been the unseen assailant, she didn't know or care right at the moment. The reek of burning flesh washed over her senses just before her eyes rolled back.

And then, Akara was out.


	4. The Pun is in the Ink

**Originally written:**  
08.16.2005

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_Spoken like a souvenier  
Touch of all your childhood fears  
Keep them at a gentle pace  
Close enough to feel their hate  
Somebody says, somebody says, somebody says  
I love you_  
- Snake River Conspiracy - Breed

* * *

It wasn't the first time Akara had come back to consciousness with Raistlin fussing over a bleeding wound of hers... and it probably wouldn't be the last, either. "Ugh... what the...? OW!" Okay, that fucking hurt. It felt like the mage was trying to stick his hand _into_her shoulder. And that he was stabbing it with a needle whenever it didn't work. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Hold still," Raistlin sounded way too calm, and one of his knees had her arm pinned to the ground. Akara opened her eyes and immediately regretted it, clenching them shut against the bright daylight.

"Woo-ooh, this is actually kind of cool. I feel... dizzy, and I'm not even sitting up."

"Blood loss," the pressure on her oddly-numb shoulder moved off for a moment, and there was a sound of tearing cloth, "Which is why you need to hold still so that I can stop the bleeding."

"T-the bleeding?" A pause as things replayed in snapshots in her mind, "Oh, _crap_. I was shot! They tried to shoot you! Did I block it fast enough?"

"Yes," Raistlin was pressing something against her shoulder again.

"Crossbow?" she gulped, remembering half-realized impressions of the trap. The click, the... she must have half-consciously noticed a glimmer of the bolt head, or the arch of the bow.

"Yes," he confirmed once more.

"...Poisoned?" Akara had to ask, because that would seriously ruin her week, wouldn't it? Poison was nasty shit, she'd managed to avoid experiencing it more than a handful of times and preferred to never experience it again. "I..." Akara took a moment assess herself, "I just mostly feel dizzy, so probably not... or if I was, I've probably bled most of it out. No sickness, no stomach pains, no sluggish breathing. But why doesn't it hurt worse?"

"I numbed the area."

"O-oh, that makes sense..." an awkward silence descended on the pair, aside from the sounds of Raistlin's work on her shoulder, which was going blessedly numb as promised. Akara fidgeted.

"Are you alright?" the question fairly burst out of her, and she winced. It was a dumb, dumb question... and she knew it, too.

"I am... unharmed," Raistlin sounded a bit surprised that she would ask. Akara, braced for a scathing reply, blinked her eyes open and turned her head to look up at him from the corner of her eye. She immediately regretted it, however, when the mage continued. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what, ask if you were okay?"

"That, too..." he appeared to be in thought for a moment, as though weighing whether or not he really wanted to know the answer to what he was asking. _Gee, I know that feeling. _"But I think you know what else I mean."

"And I think you know the answer," Akara shot back sourly.

"...Still?" Raistlin once again seemed surprised. Akara rolled her eyes.

"No, not _still,_" she couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her response, "I mean, when I said _love_I'm sure what I really meant... both times you made me say it... was 'temporary mild physical attraction'. Gods, Majere, catch a fucking clue."

He seemed somewhat taken aback, pausing in his work and sitting back a little.

"Damnit, that was sarcasm!" Akara snapped, "You're not the only one allowed to use that, you know."

"I was merely... surprised," the mage offered slowly.

"Still?" Akara mimicked, and the archmage raised a pale eyebrow.

"Always," he said quite thoughtfully, "I will never not be surprised, I suspect, when anyone besides my foolish brother proclaims... feelings, for me. Of any positive nature."

"Well, there you have it," the thief muttered, turning her face away as her embarrassment finally caught up with her in force.

Raistlin, this time, was wise enough to not continue that particular line of inquiry. "What direction is your city in?" he asked, removing the pressure on her shoulder for a moment, checking on the wound.

"Any direction we go," Akara said, "It... isn't your typical city. Which reminds me, I need to warn you," the thief paused a moment, steeling herself, "I have no doubt that you can figure out a way to leave the city again once you're in it, but, it doesn't seem fair to not even say anything. They have no problem letting anyone in who knows about it, but they don't easily let people out. And by 'they' I mean the wards on the city."

"And what about you? I presume Paladine is the one who managed your release last time?"

"I don't need to leave again," she took a deep breath, "just like I don't need to stay at the Krinir house... so you really don't need to do your act. I've no interest in being stuffed into dresses and made to dance just for the sake of briefly having a legitimate last name again..."

"You know how to dance, my lady thief?" he was clearly steering the topic away, but she was willing to let him. Akara laughed, short and humorless, and winced when it jarred her shoulder. Yeah, the numbing was wearing off.

"Anyone above the age of seven knows how to dance at least a bit, in that house. They're very formal and stiff-lipped around there... Krontis nobility, Mother hated it. I think she thanked the moons every day that she was a red-robe and didn't have to dress in garish colors and be twirled around like a bit of gaudy jewelry."

"The denizens of your city thank the moons?" Raistlin resumed his work on her shoulder, "And not the Gods?"

"Yeah... they haven't really made a come-back there yet, you know. Goes to show how isolated the place is... very few have ever left in their entire lives. It's not... it's not just some city."

"Krontis is the name of your city?"

"Yeah. Fitting, isn't it? Sounds like a disease."

"You don't like your city."

"No shit, Majere," Akara snorted, "Krontis is twice the size of Palanthas, and I was the nameless sludge at the bottom of the barrel. No, I don't like my city one bit."

"And yet, you go back willingly, even eagerly," Raistlin noted, and the thief could feel him fussing with the back of her tunic. What was he doing? "Are you so determined to run away from me?

"I'm not really running from you, Majere, so much as I'm running from myself," the sudden tearing of cloth was the only reply, cold air hitting her back, and Akara yelped. "What-"

"Worried that I may try something inappropriate?" the mage was mocking her, it was plain in his voice. But then he explained, "The bleeding has stopped, however, I cannot do much with your wound if my only access to it is through the hole from the crossbow bolt. Besides which, the cloth is bloodsoaked," he proceeded to tear the sleeves as well, removing his knee from her arm.

"Oh... um... okay," _Raistlin Majere just ripped my shirt off._ Akara's eyes were wide, staring at the ground, _Somehow I always hoped it would be a little less clinical if that happened. _At least she was laying on her stomach, the thief blushed.

"A black rabbit?" Raistlin inquired, fingertips lightly tracing the design she knew was on her other shoulder blade. A black silhouette of a rabbit, stretched out in a run.

"Yeah, it's from... back when I was still a real Krinir," she swallowed, "I had it done to piss my father off. I guess it worked? A couple of weeks later, they gave me their ultimatum..."

The archmage was silent for a long moment, still tracing the design. Then, he laughed. Akara blinked. "Uh, I didn't know it was that funny...?"

"Paladine is mocking me," he said, after his brief humor had left, and he ran his fingertips down her spine from neck to waist, repeatedly, just like stroking the fur of a rabbit.

"Majere, now you're _petting_me. Stop it," Akara snapped, and his hand halted.

"I apologize," he murmured, "I should be looking after your wound, not puzzling over an enchantment."

"An enchantment?" the thief sputtered, "It's just ink, Majere! Ink under the skin, from a needle!"

"Ah, yes, I had forgotten that you are a master of the Arcane," Raistlin drawled, removing his hand entirely.

"I," Akara grit her teeth, "was _there _when it was done, thank you! Nobody cast any blasted enchantments on it. I think I would have noticed. Probably."

"Not at the time, perhaps..." the mage said simply, as though that solved the whole argument.

"Now you listen here, Majere, quit insulting my intelligence!" the thief huffed. Forgetting entirely for a moment that the cloth she was laying on was no longer a tunic in any sense of the word, she rolled onto her side to glare at him. "I might not be a mage, but I'm not an idiot, ei...ther..." she stammered to a halt.

Raistlin's freaky golden eyes were fixed on her chest. Akara felt her face color, and her heartbeat jumped. She was way too exposed, just now, but couldn't seem to move. So she stared back at him, as the mage... looking wholly uncertain, raised his eyes back to hers. If she was locked into place before, it was worse now... the thief couldn't seem to breathe.

And then his eyes hardened again and he pulled away quickly, the change so abrupt that the thief sat up, holding one arm across her chest. For Raistlin's part, he simply pulled a roll of bandages from a hidden pocket in his robes, moved behind her, and started tightly wrapping the wound. Apparently it either didn't need stitches, or he didn't keep needle and thread on hand. Over her shoulder, around her torso just under the collarbones, under both arms, over the shoulder again...

"Where did the horse go?" Akara asked after a long moment of silence, looking around. Her gaze drifted toward the road, flicked nervously into the trees, and came to rest on the charred, blackened remains of a Palanthas thief laying broken beneath the foliage. But no sign of the horse. The cat-burglar tore her gaze from the dead body - blackened and withered - with considerable effort.

"She spooked off when you were hit," Raistlin replied, deft fingers tying off the elaborate bindings.

"Crap."

"Indeed," did the mage sound a touch amused at her word choice? "However, she will not have gone far. She will wander back, if we do not venture out to retrieve her ourselves."

"You've got her enchanted, don't you?" Akara wasn't exactly surprised, but it still hadn't occurred to her until now. She wasn't used to travelling in the company of a mage, after all.

"Of course. I have spell books in those bags," there was a rustling behind her, and Akara jumped when warm velvet suddenly settled over her bare shoulders. Raistlin's cloak. "You may borrow this, in the meantime."

"Ah... um... thank you?" Akara stammered, pulling the soft material close and letting the blood-caked rag that had once been a perfectly good tunic fall back into the dirt. This covered a good deal more, anyway, and she could hold it closed with one hand if need-be. All of her extra clothes were on the horse, wherever she was. _Never mind that the cloak smells like him,_ the thief thought, taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to burrow her face into the amazingly-soft velvet. _Not that I'm really noticing, of course. That would be creepy of me.  
_  
"Well then, let's go find your horse," she said out loud, lurching to her feet, because otherwise she wouldn't be able to resist much longer.

"I think that would be wise, yes," Raistlin also rose, if a bit more slowly, taking up his staff from where it had been leaning against a nearby tree.

"And my shirts," the thief added, "shirts are good."

"Of course," the mage agreed mildly, starting down a path with fresh hoofprints. Akara followed quickly.

* * *

That night, they camped out. Akara was mostly pleased to have her spare clothes back and be in another tunic, but, at the same time she'd really _liked_ borrowing that cloak. Bare skin and velvet that smelled like Raistlin? She could go for that. _Ah, well._

Of course, she hadn't quite realized what the incident from earlier was going to do to her dreams. So when she settled down opposite of their campfire from Raistlin, she managed to fall asleep fairly easily, exhausted from her blood loss. His wards would protect the camp, there was no reason for them to play guard. But if she'd known what would happen, she probably would have never managed to doze off at all.

The dreams had never stopped. Never. And on further reflection, they had started up shortly after her second mission... always quickly locked away and forgotten. The one she'd had in the tower while knowingly sleeping on top of a nude Raistlin? That one had simply been the most vivid...

And the first she'd been forced to remember after waking up, too. Ever since then, little whispering fragments of things had always made themselves known when her mind was asleep, when the shields against herself were lowered.  
_  
This time, dream-Akara had tied him down to a felled tree, the rough bark scraping against them both, her teeth nipping delicately across his straining throat. Her hands were on his wrists, over the loops of the grappling hook's rope, and he was thrashing. But it definitely wasn't to get away, _"_Please..._"

The choked voice brought the thief out of her strange dream with a silent gasp for air, sitting up and shoving her thin blanket off of herself, eyes darting around. It was the middle of the night; no wonder she had been so easily woken... being nocturnal didn't change with a simple difference in sleep time or a bit of blood loss. Her eyes came to rest on the mage over the dying embers of the campfire.  
_  
Oh... moons above._ Akara's eyes widened, and she held her breath, so shocked that her mind went back to Krontis terms. _He's... writhing.  
_  
"_...kara..._" Raistlin whispered, barely audible, his back arching sinuously beneath his blanket. She had no idea he could even do that, and couldn't tear her eyes off of him.

Without realizing what she was doing, the thief crawled silently around the campfire, coming to a halt next to Raistlin and sitting back on her haunches. Disbelief coursed through her veins, but she couldn't tear her eyes off of the sleeping mage's movements. It wasn't a terribly thick blanket, after all.

Raistlin's head was thrown back, his mouth was open... wheezing alarmingly for breath. Would he start coughing? Should she wake him up so he didn't give himself a heart attack?  
_  
She took her hands off of his wrists and tangled them in his hair, pulling his head even further back as she attacked the underside of his jaw-  
_  
"_...please..._" his near-silent hiss brought her out of the image, her eyes traveled down the blanket-covered form. Beneath it, straining- oh dear. She knew she was already blushing, but it only grew worse at that, and her eyes snapped back to his face. It wasn't like she was totally stupid about these things, of course. She'd walked in on a few different people's naughty dreams over the years of cat-burglary, or had to hide in a closet while a pair got it on just outside, waiting for the chance to escape. But this was _Majere_.  
_  
Akara bit his earlobe, hissing unintelligible words before he turned his head and their mouths locked, dueling savagely. Her hands wandered down his chest, along his ribs, fingertips trailing and nails scratching-  
_  
Another jerk out of the image, and Akara stared at him suspiciously. _I've never had anything but really short nails,_ the thief thought, wondering why that would be different in a dream. _A dream... _her eyes widened, _h__e's projecting __a dream! How the in the abyss is he doing that?_

"..._Akara... ahhh..._" the sleeping mage's body writhed slowly under the blankets, and he was making the most... interesting sounds. The thief licked suddenly-dry lips and seriously considered the consequences that would result if she tore the cover off of him.

_Or even just, you know, took a peek_. Akara blushed darker at that, feeling about as mature as a punk kid. _I'm turning into such a pervert!_ But then, she _did_ have the object of her six years of obsession, having a steamy dream about _her_, not three feet away. _Okay, so, anyone would be a pervert right now. But I am not looking!  
_  
And then Raistlin took the matter completely out of her control. He kicked the blanket off. Akara didn't even really look, she just dove back into her bedroll and pulled the blanket over her head, positively sure he was a half-second from waking up. _Holy shit!_


	5. One Step Forward and Two Steps Back

**Originally written:**  
08.31.2005

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_'Cause I just can't find the strength  
To pull you up and keep you taut  
No I just can't find the strength  
To hold you up and keep you taut_  
Imogen Heap - Canvas

* * *

Akara carefully said nothing about it the next morning. She was mostly busy trying not to move her injured shoulder, wincing at the crisp brightness of daylight, and wishing desperately for her usual mug of strong inn-brewed tea. It had been nice being able to just go down two levels, park herself at the bar, and have it handed to her.

"Ughhh, why do people do anything during the _day_?" the thief grumbled out loud, pulling her thin blanket over her head. Daylight did nothing but make her want to crawl into a deep, dark cave, and hibernate.

Raistlin had been up for about an hour now, pouring over his spell books as though nothing in the world could be at all awkward about this entire, moons-be-damned trip. The thief rolled so that her back was to him, annoyed with herself for being embarrassed by his mere presence.

The mage suddenly folded into a coughing fit, and Akara sat up in alarm. He already had his tea prepared and waiting in his cup, however, so there wasn't much the thief could do. She untangled herself from the blanket (she was still in the habit of winding it around her legs) and lurched to her feet. Her natural inclination to sleep when it was bright out aside, it was time to be up and around if he was going to start hacking up bits of lung.

She was walking over to check the water level in his kettle, when the mage... still coughing raggedly... started to topple right off of the conveniently-sized rock he was using as a chair. Akara darted forward and caught him without thinking about it, kneeling in the dirt with Raistlin crumpled into her shoulder. Thankfully, it wasn't the one that had been recently gouged by a crossbow bolt.

"Okay, Majere, quit trying to die," for some reason, it just felt like the right thing to say, "it's _rude_."

When Raistlin's coughing fit passed, he remained slumped into her, his shoulders shaking with silent amusement, his lungs too tired to produce the sound. Akara tried not to fidget at the proximity, all the more awkward for what she'd seen last night.

"I will not try, no," was his rasping agreement, once he had caught his breath enough to produce his own voice. He then managed to pull away from her, and Akara fidgeted more.

"Good, good," the thief was quick to flee back to 'her' side of the campfire, rolling up her blanket. Birds were chirping merrily overhead, the sun was shining brightly, and there wasn't a trace of civilization for another day's journey in either direction.

Absolutely horrible.

Raistlin was watching her. Akara fidgeted _even worse_. "Is there something wrong?" the mage finally asked, her general unease was probably setting his nerves on end.

"Very wrong," she muttered, too quietly for him to hear, before continuing. "No, no, of course not! I just... uh... hate being awake during the day?" a nervous, forced laugh, "Yeah, that's what it is. It's too bright out, you know, hurts the eyes and stuff... and... ah... heh... you're totally not buying this."

"No, not particularly," he folded his long fingers together around his bitter-smelling tea, staring levelly at her. "You're not going to tell me what it is?"

"N-no, actually..." Akara cleared her throat, "I mean, some of that was bullshit, but it's still true, too. I'm nocturnal, Majere. Nothing good comes of me walking around in the sunlight."

He stared at her suspiciously. It occurred to Akara now as it had several times already this morning, unbidden, that she could exact a perfect revenge on him so _easily _for the stunt he'd pulled on her out in the rain at the tower that last time. All it would take would be a few dropped hints that he'd woken her up, that the mess he'd undoubtably found himself in upon waking had been a _display_.

But she said nothing, just like she'd opted not to say anything last night. She'd feigned sleep until oblivion finally did come back to her for a few more hours, just in case he woke up after all. _I'm just not that... oh... I don't know. Cruel._ Akara mused, staring back at him. _Not that he'd hesitate for a second if he were in my shoes, but, I'm just not... not like him.  
_  
She frowned slightly. Not that she could figure out why he'd even been having dreams about her in the first place. _That was just because he saw my chest anyway, wasn't it? Full view and all... maybe, I don't know. Doesn't he see me rotting every time he does more than glance my way? That's a little sick. I hope he doesn't get off on rotting flesh or something...  
_  
Raistlin cleared his throat, and for once was the first to break eye contact.  
_  
Is he... blushing?_ Akara peered closer, and while it was very difficult to tell with his odd coloration, it did appear that way. _Huh.  
_  
"Well, we should probably get going, don't you think?" the thief said, standing back up again, "We should hit Krontis today... I'll lead you to the Krinir house before we split, if you're sure you want to stay there. Otherwise there's all sorts of inns you can go to... Krontis is a weird place, half of it works off gears and screws and shit. You won't run out of shit to poke at anytime soon, I bet."

"And what do you plan to do?" the archmage asked, finishing his tea quickly and then helping to pack up their small camp.

"My 'step-mother', as you call her," she couldn't help but sound incredibly bitter, "made the rounds when she married my father, informing all of the inns that I am never to be, under any circumstances, allowed a room. No matter how much coin I can pay them. I'm certain she'll re-establish this the moment word gets out that I'm back. So I don't know."

The mage stopped what he was doing, turned, and stared at her. "That does seem... excessive of her. Why?"

"I'm an embarrassment to the Krinir family, Majere, I've been struck from every record and my very name no longer exists. It would be convenient to them if I would simply die off on some lovely winter night." Akara snorted, "You're traveling with a ghost."

"You," Raistlin's sharp tone surprised her into a stop, "exist, you are alive, no matter what they say. And," he paused, and when the mage continued, his voice was much, much softer, but no less determined, "I shall grant you your revenge upon them, if you will accompany me."

"Revenge?" the thief blinked, "I don't care about..."

"Oh," he sneered faintly, "I am quite certain that it appeals to you, on some level. You needn't pretend otherwise with me of all people, Akara."

"And what makes you so sure?" Akara grumbled, folding her arms. Raistlin tipped his head, then, and turned back to the saddlebags he was rummaging through.

"You claim to be in love with _me_, do you not?" he asked casually, "I have not had many profess such a thing, but you cannot be all light and sweetness and yet not be repulsed by me. There is a darkness in you, Akara. Else we would not be here."

That... was a damn good point.

* * *

It also wasn't quite the first time Akara had woken up disoriented, confused, and slightly nauseated. However, the sensation of warm velvet pressed against her skin, the sound of rattling breathing, and the gap in memory as to how she _got_ there, was an entirely new combination. And she was way too warm, thick blankets covering her from head to toe and making the world pitch black. So she did what anyone would do; she twisted, attempting to sit up.

In moving, Akara discovered several startling things. One... her arm felt like it was on fire, two... her clothes had all gone missing, and three... there was an arm clamped firmly down around her waist. That arm tightened scant seconds before she realized what the warm velvet flush against her back was. _Oh... fuck. How did this happen?  
_  
"Are you awake this time?" that quiet voice... warm breath playing against the back of her neck...

The blazing mess that her arm felt like it must be, and the fact that she was being clutched, nude, by Raistlin Majere... vied for priority in her mind. Finally neither really won, both sort of gave out, and she only managed to stammer out a few coherent words. "Wh...what happened?" Ah, yes, that covered both didn't it?

"You don't remember?" he'd moved his head forward, his lips burned against her neck as he spoke. "You did something stupid and heroic again, my lady thief."

Akara shivered, never mind that she was far too warm under these blankets, pulled back against the unnatural body heat of the frail archmage.

"I... I don't remember doing anything," she paused, distracted, "we were moving, you were on the horse and I was jogging along side since I don't like riding, and then..."

"They ambushed us," he prompted, sounding surprisingly patient.

"From the other side of the horse..." she hissed in a breath, wincing, "but then I was there? It's a blur..."

"Do you remember deflecting the sword?" the mage asked.

"I remember..." but her head throbbed, "no. I don't recall that at all. It's a smear after they jumped out at us."

"You dove under the horse, came up, and managed to block the first sword-swing," he explained in a soft, almost-hypnotic tone, "It would have surely taken my leg, and my life, before I could complete a spell."

"I do crazy shit all the time, Majere. There was this one time I flipped from rafter to rafter three stories up over the top of... oh, you know what?" Right. "It doesn't matter. Why am I _naked_?"

"The sword was coated in filth and poison," Raistlin murmured against her neck, "And you blocked it with your arm."

"That doesn't explain why you decided to pull my clothes off, drape what feels like every blanket in our packs over me, and then climb in as well," she grumbled, "I don't take you as the random pervert type, so what gives?"

"You have been sweating the poison out." the archmage was now idly tracing soothing (and yet nerve-wracking) patterns on her stomach with one long-fingered hand. "I allowed it to drain as long as I dared, before I cleaned and stitched the wound. But when you refused to come out of the poison-fever... this was all I could do."

"Stop that," Akara squirmed away from his hand, unconsciously grinding back against the mage, who went very, very still. "I'm ticklish," she stammered, freezing in place, her face feeling as though it was on fire.

"Akara..."

"I didn't mean to... to do that, I'm sorry," she gulped, "please just let me up..."

In response, the archmage suddenly tightened his arm around her waist, and buried his free hand in her hair, pulling her head back sharply. She was aware of the mage even if she couldn't see him in this pitch black darkness, could hear him breathing... could _feel_ him breathing.

"M-Majere! Stop!" Akara panicked, and he finally did stop, mere inches from her trapped head, thin lips hovering unseen... but sensed. It was that intense heat that came off of his skin, more than anything, and the familiar twinge of golden eyes boring into her head.

"The thought is so horrible?" he asked quietly, sounding almost melancholy.

"You know better than that," the thief's voice sounded choked even to herself, "But I'm not a mage-"

"Not a mage?" Raistlin sneered, "what possible difference does that make, thief? Six years! For six years you have haunted me like the ghost you claim you are. What does it matter if you are, or are not, magi?"

"I've never stolen anything from you," Akara retorted before she could think better of it, "so I'm not even a thief to _you._"

"Oh, I _disagree,_" he was angry, his hand tightened painfully in her hair, "You've stolen more than you know..."

But he wasn't the only angry one, at that statement. The thief gasped, outraged. "I've never lifted a single thing from you! Not so much as a twig from the Grove or a copper from your tower! I wouldn't!"

"You've stolen my very _concentration!_" Raistlin roared, startling her, "My purpose, my future! My studies slip through my fingers like grains of sand, I cannot think straight!"

"I'm sorry," Akara gulped, shrinking away from him as much as she could. She was far too aware of not having a scrap of her own clothing on, of the fact that the archmage was not only fully dressed... but apparently had his spell components still tied around his waist. And his anger was nearly a solid thing, a poisonous viper under the blankets with them.

"You're... sorry?" Raistlin hissed, "You're _sorry_?"

The thief could almost literally smell the danger. His anger seemed to crackle through the fingertips twisted in her hair, the unseen glare of his strange eyes could almost burn the side of her face as she jerked to get away. And suddenly the hand at her stomach moved, grasping her jaw painfully and wrenching her face around so that she was staring straight upwards.

"I'll _make_you sorry!" the archmage snarled, and lunged.

Raistlin's kiss was an attack, bruising and searing, tinged with blood. Akara froze only for a moment, her teeth thankfully clenched shut against him. And then, only a heartbeat later, realization hit in a tidal wave of her _own_rage, and she somehow managed to shove him away.

"Let me _go!_" she screamed, voice shrill. Surprisingly, he obeyed, and she was able to get her head free of both of his hands, twist to her feet with one of the blankets clutched firmly around herself, and back away from his spite-filled eyes.

It was night already, deep night, and an overly-large campfire burned too close for comfort. It was Akara's turn to snarl, now, backing out of the painful light. She nearly tripped over the bags, snatched up the one with her clothes in it, and vanished far enough from the campfire's light that she felt she was out of his sight.

Dressing in record time, she threw the bag back into place and proceeded to climb a tree, her arm and shoulder and any lingering poison be damned. Up and up she went, branch by branch, until she could go no higher; up where the trunk was swaying alarmingly in the breeze. It was an almost-invisible movement when watched from below, but so terrifying and _real_from in the branches this high, barely thick enough to even support her weight. Akara wrapped her bandaged arm around the thinned trunk and sat snug beside it on one of those branches, her hip digging into the bark.

She managed to not reel with the sensation of the entire world constantly shifting and dipping in the currents of the air. Perhaps it was from long practice that she could fight down the terror, or maybe it was simply that fear itself cleared her head. The tree swayed, the wind blew, and it didn't matter what order it happened in.

"Are you coming back down any time soon?" a sneering voice from below interrupted her almost-calm moment. The mage had apparently found her; she peered down between her knees to see the familiar glow of the Staff of Magius, and an upturned, golden-skinned face.

Most people, at this height in a tree, would have become dizzy and scared, many actually... irrationally... letting go in their panic. The feeling of having your stomach disconnected from your innards and flung ten feet out of your body was only increased by looking toward the ground, but Akara Krinir was generally nowhere near ground level for very long on any given day.

She _did_let go of the trunk, but only to swing backwards on the thin branch in a crackle of bark, hanging upside-down from her legs to stare angrily at the mage from a better perspective than literally between her legs. Four stories up, she would guess, maybe a tad higher. "Fuck off, Majere."

He frowned, she could see it from here in the Staff's clear light. "We... need to talk."

"I don't want to talk," Akara huffed, unwrapping one leg from the branch and bending it at the waist to point back towards camp with her booted foot, stretching. "You're a creepy fuck. Go away."

"You are not fully recovered."

"I don't care," the thief said, snatching a small, green pinecone from a nearby twig and playing with it.

"You are being _childish_now," Raistlin continued, and the frown only deepened.

"Good. I'd hate for you to have _all_of the fun," Akara snarked, and then to prove how childish she could be... she chucked the pinecone at him.

Right, so, maybe that hadn't been the very best idea after all.


	6. City of Memories

**Originally written:**  
09.22.2005

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_Make no sudden movements  
And no one will get hurt  
You're not coming over  
If you know what's good for me  
Why would I be leaving you?_  
- Frou Frou - Psychobabble

* * *

She later realized that chucking something unexpected at a seasoned war-mage was probably not the smartest thing to do. Especially from about four stories up, dangling upside-down by one leg off of a thin branch, high up in a swaying tree.

It sure _felt_damn good, though... even if the aftermath didn't.

The little cone hurled down through the branches with eerie precision, and pegged Raistlin Majere on the shoulder with a dull thump of black velvet. Perhaps half of a smug heartbeat later, something whizzed past Akara's ear, and connected with her branch.

_Oh, shit.  
_**  
Crack!  
**  
She had perhaps the rest of that fateful heartbeat in which to untangle from the snapped branch and latch onto another one with both gloved hands, gripping tightly.

So Raistlin snapped that one, too.

Akara yelped, twisting to catch another with her good arm and the leg on the same side. A glance down showed the smug archmage, fingers extended toward her, all but two still glowing with unfired energy.

Fizz, snap! She cursed, loudly, from the next branch down.

"Would you _stop_already?"

"Most impressive. Have you ever considered joining a circus?"

"Hey, Majere? Eat shit and die. In that order."

This time, she managed to grab two of the slender branches near each other, one in each hand, dangling between them. Before he could snap one or both, she flipped herself upward to crouch on top of them, back against the trunk.

"I shall set the tree on _fire_, if I must," the mage warned, absorbing the remaining magic missiles from his fingertips and reaching for two of his pouches. The lightest hint of rotten eggs reached the thief's sensitive sense of smell, and the daughter of a mage and an alchemist paled to realize it was sulfur.

"What in the abyss do you _want_, Majere?"

"For you to agree to an ultimatum, of course."

"...Well? Let's hear it."

"You will stay with me, in the Krinir house," he began, hands stilling and face turning up towards her again, "and you will go along with whatever I choose to tell your family."

"In a pig's eye."

"No, bat guano and sulfur, I believe..." his voice trailed off as he turned his attention back to rolling said two components into a small, precisely-formed ball between his fingertips. Akara gulped.

"You're a real fuckstick, you know that? Fine!"

* * *

Arriving in Krontis all by itself was nothing of particular interest. There was an audible _pop_, the feeling of rain where there was none, and then there you were. After that, things got very interesting, because you found yourself suddenly standing on the cobblestones of the central square. Generally without any idea how you got there or where you were, or what was going to happen to you next.

A younger Akara had often found this spot to be perfect for lifting much-needed money for rations. People were just too _stupefied_to notice, half the time, and the other half they were being barraged by vendors.

So she wasn't all that surprised when she felt the very, very faint tugging at her belt. She darted her hand back and grabbed a thin wrist, fast as a striking snake. The boy she jerked around to her front wasn't that surprising either, in context.

"Mick?"

"Akara?" the younger thief gaped, "What the fuck are you doing back?"

"Hey, watch your mouth." Akara grumbled, smacking the boy on the shoulder. There was a long pause before they both burst out giggling. Apparently this was an imitation of someone.

Raistlin, ever the patient one, drummed his fingertips on the saddle horn, sighing softly to himself. "As fascinating as this little reunion surely must seem from an inside perspective..." he trailed off, and Akara frowned in annoyance.

"Right, right, sure, fine. Be that way." she groused, before tossing her money pouch at Mick and taking hold of the bridle to Raistlin's horse. "Keep quiet, alright? I don't want everyone knowing I'm back yet."

"Sure, sure." the pouch was pocketed, though the boy looked stunned, "Gotta make an entrance and all that?"

"I guess it's something like that. See you around."

With that, Akara led Raistlin's horse off, heading quickly down one of the smaller streets that branched away from the square, the thief at a jog, and the horse at a trot. The buildings were tall, three or four stories each, and perfectly upright. Woodwork and stonework were combined in the older structures, but it wasn't much different from anything you would find on Krynn proper.

Finally, they were a safe distance from any eavesdroppers. Akara slowed down and then stopped, turning to glare up at the mage. "So now what?"

"We go to the Krinir house, of course," Raistlin said from atop the horse, his fine-boned hands crossed casually across the saddlehorn. He tipped his head slightly to one side, staring at her. "Have I been too subtle with my intention?"

"I mean, Majere, what are you going to _tell_them?" Akara sighed, letting go of the horse's bridle, before folding her arms and pacing. "If you want me to go along with whatever it is, you might like to give me a bit of warning first, so I don't fuck things up."

"I have also told you what I will tell them."

"Huh?" Akara paused in order to glance at him. The mage gave her a long, flat look. "Oh... oh fuck no, you weren't _serious_?"

"I was, and I am," the archmage drawled, "ah... I _have_been too subtle, I see."

"Why?" Akara had stopped dead in her tracks, and now she leaned against one of the walls enclosing the small side-street. "I mean, really. What's the point?"

"I should hardly think that you really wish to know, Akara," his voice was soft, but serious. He'd tell her, if she insisted, but... no, she supposed... she really _didn't_want to know. Maybe he knew her better than she figured.

"You're right," the thief sighed, straightening, "I guess I'm better off not knowing. You'll have your fun either way, anyway." A long, long moment passed, both waiting for the other to do or say something. Akara suddenly sank to the ground, her back against the wall again, knees bent up and arms propped on top of them. She tilted her head back against the wall to glare at him, impossibly high up.

"Look," she sighed again, and noted that she did that an awful lot around the archmage, "I'm pretty fucked up, you know."

He merely snorted. Akara rolled her eyes. "No, I'm being serious here. It's pretty damn obvious that I'm a fucking lunatic, right? Yeah, of course it is, look at who I'm talking to," yet _another_sigh, and she frowned in annoyance at herself and this new habit. She was starting to sound like a grumpy teenager.

"The point is..." Akara ground to a halt, and then set her forehead on her knees, determined not to sigh yet again. There was a creak of saddle leather, the rustle of heavy velvet robes, and then Raistlin's boots entered her line of vision. Slowly, with the aid of his staff, he eased himself down to sit next to her, and the awkward silence turned oddly companionable.  
_  
This should feel really strange, shouldn't it?  
_  
But it didn't. The thief picked her head up and looked at Raistlin... and he was watching the horse's hooves as the animal fidgeted, picking one foot up and setting it down. Up, down, up, down, the animal heaved a sigh of its own. One long ear pivoted to focus on them as Akara fidgeted and Raistlin leaned his head against the wall behind them, apparently glad enough for the break despite his earlier impatience.

"The point is, Majere, I've lived in three places in my life. In the Krinir house, up a tree not far from here, and at the _Golden Hourglass,_" the thief continued suddenly, "I lived in that house the longest, it's the first place I ever lived... hell, I was _born _in that house..."

"And your point is?"

"And I'm a fucking nutcase, and always have been. I'm just... I'm trying to tell you to be careful in that house, Majere. Don't let it..." Akara gestured vaguely, unable to find words for it for a moment, and then, "don't let it- change you."

Raistlin turned his head to stare at her for a moment, clearly considering her words, and then nodded, just slightly. "I will be careful."

* * *

"It's no good," Akara said after a long moment of silence, her hands hovering over the black iron gate but not touching the bars. "This place is sealed tight against me, specifically, and I don't think you want to be caught breaking their wards if you want to stay here relatively comfortably."

Raistlin wrapped one long-fingered hand around an iron bar and looked at the house with thinly-veiled curiosity as the thief continued.

"It's really quite strange for them to have it locked up against strangers, though," the thief finished with a frown, folding her arms.

"They've all gone into town."

Both jumped at the unexpected voice from behind, the thief whipping around to face the stranger and Raistlin turning more cautiously. Standing several feet away on the cobble-stoned road was an ugly woman dressed much like Akara in that same cheap, dark brown. If it wasn't for the strange curved blade at her hip, and the large broadsword at her back, she could have passed easily for another thief. Her face was scarred, and her nose had been broken many, many times.

"Weaponsmaster Alley?" Akara said, blinking.

Dark blue eyes that were as cold as Raistlin's ever were sized them both up, thief and mage. Calculating, but oddly... dead, as though life simply didn't reach them. The stranger inclined her head in greeting. "Akara, it's been a long time."

"Yeah it has, I haven't seen you since..."

"Since you... left," the cold eyes flickered back to Raistlin again and settled on the archmage, unwavering now. "You're the one from the Tower, aren't you?" Alley asked, bluntly.

"I am," Raistlin stared hard at the stranger, plainly taking in her long brown braid and the iron grey starting from the temples, prodding without words at the beginnings of middle-age - or whatever it was that he saw with those freaky, cursed eyes of his. Alley, however, didn't back down, she simply raised a dark eyebrow at the silent scrutiny, and the two spent several moments fighting with their stares.

Warrior versus mage, it was actually fairly natural... especially with two of this caliber and general unfriendliness. It was like setting a particularly arrogant cat and very large dog in front of each other. The tension built steadily until Akara cleared her throat loudly, and then stepped in between them, breaking their line of sight.

"Look, you're both stubborn as hell and this will probably go on forever without my intervention, so can you just duel or something and get it over with?" the thief huffed, folding her arms, "Some of us don't want to stand around in plain sight of the city guard all day."

"I don't usually pry," Alley said, stepping smoothly around her as though to protect her from the black-robe, "but I'd like to know what business you have here."

"Alley," Akara poked the Weaponsmaster in the shoulder, "relax, he's not here to curse anyone. Or if he is, they probably have it coming anyway." Dark blue eyes flickered to the thief's bandaged arm, and then an unspoken question passed between them. "He took care of it, after I jumped in between him and an assassin," she continued, glancing at Raistlin, "Really, Alley, he's alright... I mean, for an evil guy. Black robes and all that."

The Weaponsmaster at least had the good sense to look dubious. Still, after a brief inspection of the wrapping and a small interrogation about what Raistlin had put on it to numb it so thoroughly, Alley seemed satisfied. None of it had made a bit of sense to Akara, who knew pretty much nothing about herbs and the like, so that was fine by her.

"Then you've saved Akara's life at least twice," said Alley, folding her arms.

"She had saved mine both times, and once before," Raistlin countered, "it was only courteous."

"I already _know_ that Akara's good people, I don't know if _you_are," the Weaponsmaster grunted, and then held out one gloved hand, "Weaponsmaster Alleyana."

Raistlin glanced at Akara, who nodded, and then - trying not to visibly wince - he touched his fingertips lightly to Alley's wrist. The mage was expecting a bone-crushing handshake of the sort that Caramon might give a newcomer. "Archmagus Raistlin Majere," he said, unease kept carefully from his voice. Alley didn't move to grab at his delicate fingers, however, and he withdrew them with relief while eyeing her in a slightly different light. "A Weaponsmaster with long hair?" he ventured after a moment.

"Says the man in a dress," she replied, without missing a beat.

"Alright, you two," Akara groused, "play _nicely_."

"...And there they are," the Weaponsmaster abruptly nodded up the road, past Akara's shoulder. "Your... ah... stepmother isn't here right now, at least."

The thief tensed, and turned to stare at the approaching carriage with obvious dismay. She'd sort of hoped they wouldn't show up until after she could convince Raistlin to give up on this idea of his. One more attempt at reason might have worked, you couldn't tell. And, well, maybe he still would after he met the bastards... she took a step back and collided just barely with the mage in question.

"You think you _could_catch me if I just ran?" she whispered as Alley turned to the mostly-forgotten black horse, taking up the reins with one hand and running the other down the animal's nose.

Akara jumped, then, as Raistlin wrapped his free arm firmly around her waist. "I simply shall not _let_ you run," his quiet voice held more than a little steel, and then it was even quieter, directed right into her ear, "Now, _do_try to look at least a little happy to be in my company, my dear. I am, after all, courting you."

The thief sputtered.

"-As far as they are to be concerned," Raistlin reminded her, dryly, as the carriage drew nearer.

He didn't let go. Akara swallowed.


	7. Funerals and Windowsills

**Originally written:**  
10.02.2005

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_I don't know how far I can see  
'cause it's all blue water streaming towards me  
The sun needs to shine normally  
but it's all grey rain_  
- Kate Ryan - The Rain

* * *

Akara felt the transition quite clearly, as everything shifted from paranoid fear to adrenalin-fueled mischief. She pried at Raistlin's arm for a moment as the carriage drew closer, and then gave up on that tactic and carefully smoothed the warm velvet of his sleeve.

"You can let go," said the thief, "I'm not going to run, now. I actually want to see this... he's going to have _fits_ , " Raistlin waited a moment as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of them, and then he wordlessly let go of her. Akara immediately moved to his side, wrapping both arms loosely around _his_waist, just above the belt of dangling spell components. He was slender, and warm. It wasn't a wholly-unpleasant thing to do, really, even if she normally wouldn't have dared.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, surprised.

"Being silly, and clingy, and blatantly affectionate for my _twuuu wuuuuv,_ " Akara snickered, batting her eyelashes up at him as he - very uncertainly - returned his arm around her waist. Well, if she was stuck in this damned plot of his, she was certainly going to get _something_out of it! Alley, mostly forgotten behind them, cleared her throat as the carriage door opened and a short, balding man dressed in red and orange stepped down.

"Can I help you with something?" said the stranger, frowning lightly at their display before fixing a more indifferent expression onto his pale face.

"That's him," Akara whispered into his shoulder, watching the proceedings with interest. Only someone who knew her very well would be able to tell the tension in her jaw and around her eyes, the strain of changing fear to adrenalin, and yet not using that energy.

"Are you..." Raistlin paused, uncertain of the name.

"Harold," was Akara's murmured answer into his ear.

"Harold Krinir?" the man interrupted, "Yes, yes I am. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, archmagus? At least, I assume you are in fact Raistlin Majere, as preposterous as your being in front of my gate may be." The golden skin and freaky eyes were probably a give-away.

"I am here to inform you that I am courting your daughter," was the blunt answer.

There was a pause. "Are you, now?" Harold looked at Akara with dim recognition flickering in his expression, but nothing solid yet. Akara shivered, it was the recognition she was dreading the most, really. And there it was, just barely, but growing.

"I am, yes," Raistlin straightened his posture slightly; Akara only knew because of her arms looped around his skinny waist.

"Which one?" And h ere it was, the moment of truth... er, lie. Akara resisted, with every ounce of willpower, against the urge to clamp her eyes shut. If she had to be here for this, then she at least was going to at least _see_the reaction.

"Akara Krinir."  
_  
Well now, that's interesting, _ Akara thought a moment later, hiding her grin in the mage's shoulder, _I didn't know you could make that noise without trying to drink while dangling upside down_.

"See," the thief opted to play along even more when it seemed no one was going to say anything, "I told you this was a bad idea." Raistlin tensed, likely thinking she was about to blow the whole thing, but she continued. "I don't think they _want_you for a son-in-law, dear."

"It would seem that way."

"Now, now, don't be hasty, my dear," Harold finally recovered his wits, "I'm just... surprised is all. It's been so long since you... ah... visited. And the last time I saw you, you said you would never marry at all."

"Yes," Akara fiddled with a previously-undiscovered bit of tied cord at Raistlin's hip, "Been something like... oh, sixteen years, hasn't it? I know how much you wanted me to visit, and all, but I've been ever-so-busy _robbing people blind_, you see."

There was that choking, gagging, gurgling sound again. The thief paused to watch this with interest. "You should really get that looked at," she continued amiably, before looking back up at Raistlin, "Do you suppose that tea of yours would help, dear?" Golden eyes were glinting down at her with almost-hidden amusement.

"No, I don't think it would."  
_  
Ah, doesn't help against being an asshole, eh?  
_  
( _No, it doesn't._)

"Wait, what?" Akara blinked, "Did you just say something?"

"A _hem,_ " Harold Krinir interrupted them, having finally recovered again, "Perhaps we should... continue this discussion inside the house?"  
_  
Away from eavesdroppers who might overhear your loud-mouth of an ex-daughter?  
_  
"Sure, _Dad_ , I'll tell you all about my adventures," the trademark crazy grin was impossible to hide now as someone opened the gate and they were ushered through, "Actually, Majere here even wrote a book about that stuff, didn't you, _dear_?"

"Indeed, I did."

"We even brought you a copy!"

The man was going to have a heart-attack at this rate.

* * *

He gave them rooms, carefully clear across the house from one another. Harold clearly underestimated the thief, if he really thought they were doing inappropriate things. Mostly that a few creaky floorboards and dubious staircases would get in the way if they wanted to meet up.

"Your mother comes back tomorrow afternoon." Harold told her, and Akara bristled visibly.

"Not my mother, _Dad_."

"Ah, yes..."

"You know, the red-robed one was my mother, the black-robed one isn't. It's not that hard, _Dad_, they're _color coded_."

Akara stopped dead in her tracks, glaring at the older Krinir. Raistlin was studying the proceedings with that oh-so-familiar bug under the glass stare, and frankly she was about ready to just kick him in the...

"Ah, you know about... uh..."

"I watched the funeral," the thief said quietly, "From the top of the mortuary. Your hired goons that day never thought to look _up_. No one ever thinks to look up."

"Er, um," Harold glanced nervously at Raistlin, "You know you could have just come to it like a normal person..."

"Of course," nothing in her tone, Akara knew, made it sound like she was really playing along. But at least she didn't outright point out that the guards had been there to keep her away. "Shall we proceed, then?"

Raistlin and Harold went downstairs. Akara stared after them for a moment, furious with herself for almost screwing the act. Then she turned around and went into her assigned rooms, shutting the door firmly behind her and propping a chair under the knob. A bell filched from a shelf was set precariously on the edge of said chair, and she then went to the windows.

"Think they'd notice if I went and slept in my tree tonight?" the cat-burglar asked the wide windowsill, opening the expensive glass pane above it. "Yeah, you're right. They probably would."

Well, fuck it, she wasn't sleeping in the giant bed, either. Beds... she didn't like them. Akara plopped down on the sill, one of her legs dangling over the edge at the knee, and got comfortable. Which, thankfully, didn't take a whole lot for her. It was still bright and sunny out, which meant she could sleep a bit, and she yawned hugely.

But just as she was starting to doze off, a knock sounded on the door. "Who is it?"

"It's '_dear_', dear," Raistlin's sneer was audible.

"Fine, get in here, _snookums_," Akara shot back grumpily, and Raistlin pushed the door open, the chair tipping and the bell rolling to the floor with a loud chiming clatter.

"Do you always trap doors with bells?"

"Beats locks. Besides, I'm not used to having a vertical door anymore."

"Or a real bed, apparently," the mage gave her current position, boneless on the windowsill, a measuring look, "what if you fell out of that?"

"I don't fall out, Majere. If I fell at all it would be in," Akara snorted, and the mage gave her a skeptical look. The thief rolled her eyes, yawning again. She was pretty positive that she looked like sleep-deprived shit warmed over. "Look, more than half of my weight is in the inner half of this ledge, and my leg thrown over would tell me the instant I tried to slip. Besides which, it's impossible to roll onto the side that has a leg hooked _over_ something," she gestured vaguely at the outside world. "There's no branches within range, I know I'd wake up if someone looped a rope over my ankle to help the deal along, and the nearest window below me is ten feet down."

Raistlin was silent, and Akara glared at him.

"I know it's real hard to do, Majere, but try to give me a little credit for knowing what I'm doing. Now, what are you doing in here, anyway? You know they're not going to give a shit about you visiting, if it's for your little game."

The Staff, always present, was left to lean against the wall next to her window, and the archmage invited himself to sit down on the sill. Thankfully, it wasn't entirely taken up by the thief, or things could have been a lot more awkward. Frowning, Akara forced herself to sit up and scoot away, leaning back against the side of the frame. "Well?"

"He tried to keep you from you mother's funeral?" the mage laced his fingers together in his lap, watching her.

"It's old news, Majere, I don't want to talk about it," she made a dismissive gesture with one hand, and he stared at her with slightly narrowed eyes, and then shrugged.

"I shall leave that alone, then."

"Thank you."

"For now."

"Bastard," Akara declared, folding her arms. Raistlin Majere was a complete paradox, here he was: pretending to court her while snooping around in her history. He seemed to go out of his way to piss her off, and yet claimed he would help her get 'revenge'.

And this had all started when he'd sent a couple books and a note, knowing she'd hurry to leave town with the reminder that he knew she lived _there_. Then he'd decided to _accompany_ her, on her... retreat from _him_! No, it had started before that, hadn't it? This was just the most recent turn of events.

It had all been so much more simple before she'd blown her own cover. A deadly game of cat and mouse, twice a year, dangerous enough to look forward to in between missions. Much, much simpler.

"What _are_you doing in here, Majere?" she finally demanded, "You didn't deign to answer when I asked the first time."

"Very well... I would like to know why you can call me _dear_, but not Raistlin," the archmage pinned her with his stare, "It seems quite out of place, does it not?"

Akara choked. Talk about snapping right to the point! "I've changed my mind, lets go back to talking about windowsills."

"And funerals?"

The thief opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again to take in a deep breath. Then she turned her head to stare down at the ground far beneath the window. "Fine. The funeral. It was in early fall, there was a half a foot of snow on the ground, and it was raining, turning the snow to mush. I climbed up the rose trellis on the North-East side of the mortuary the night before the funeral to bypass the guards that would be all over ground-level in the morning." her voice sounded flat even to her, as she rushed the facts out, "it was colder than the abyss, the slush froze by dawn, but I was still up there when they brought out the body and-"

"Enough."

"Right, then."

"...How old were you?"

"I thought you said that was enough?" Akara growled, ripping her stare from the ground to glare at him. He didn't so much as blink. "Thirteen. Almost fourteen. It's not really your business anyway, so..."

"Why will you not call me by my first name?"

Oh, back to that already? She frowned. "I've called you it before..."

"Only in times of great stress."

"So? I thought you liked being called Majere. The whole 'there is a God by that name' thing, and all."

Raistlin sighed, and leaned back against his side of the frame. The hinges that the framed glass pane swung outward on were outside of the building proper, something Akara found mightily stupid. Lock the glass as solid as you please, but it only took a rope-slung support, the thick pins slipped out of the hinges, and you were in without a sound. "You have not answered my question."

"You never answered mine."

"I came here to ask you about the funeral, and my name."

"Alright. You answered one of mine, I answered one of yours."

"Do _you_have another question, then?"

"Definitely," Akara considered for a moment. Majere had been asking her personal things that she really didn't want to talk about, but she couldn't really think of anything similarly horrible to ask_him_. She could ask something about him and his twin, but she already knew what little she'd wanted to know on the subject. Thanks to the archmagus being a living legend, there was little one couldn't find out if they were clever enough _and_had a way to eliminate the fake accounts.

Of course, no one knew a lot about _his_childhood, but that seemed a bit... well, harsh. Akara just wasn't that cruel, unlike her present company. "Alright, I've been wanting to ask a mage this for years, and you're the only one handy."

"...Yes?" he seemed apprehensive, if a bit curious. Of course, there were all sorts of stupid things she could ask about mages in general, like what they wore under their robes, or if they kept extra pouches just to look more official, or if the conclave really _did_have orgies every new moon...

Yeah, but none of that was on the agenda. This time.

"Yeah. The stuff you guys talk in when you're doing magic..."

"The Language of Magic, yes."

"That one, yeah. Is it... a real language? Like, can you just _talk_in it without setting anything on fire?"

"Yes."

"That's _so_cool."

"Yes, I suppose it is," Raistlin smiled faintly at that, but at least it was real.


	8. Amber and Silver

**Originally written:**  
10.30.2005

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_Maybe I'll live my whole life, just getting by  
Maybe I'll be discovered, maybe I'll be colonized  
You could try to train me like a pet  
You could try to teach me to behave  
But I'll tell you, if I haven't laerned it yet  
You know I ain't gonna sit, I ain't gonna stay_  
- Ani DiFranco - Cradle and All

* * *

Several days of avoiding everyone later, Akara was startled out of groggily trying to read a book by another knock. She carefully set it down, debating whether to answer for once or to hide like she'd done many times already today. Father's maids had come in and done their thing, and not spotted her.

Even Majere had come looking for her, though he hadn't done more than knocked and asked if she was inside.

"Lady 'Kara?" came a vaguely familiar voice through the door, "It's... Tannusen. Are you alright?"

"Tannu?" she blinked. She hadn't seen the little blond kid-brother of Alley's in over sixteen years. Eighteen, really, since he'd been sent off for some sort of training elsewhere. Tannu had been the only one around vaguely her age, and at that size where boys and girls had cooties but it didn't otherwise matter if they were pals. And they had been pals; he'd been one of the only kids who could keep up with her.

"May I come in, Lady? Or... at least open the door? Talking through it is..." Not that he'd been around much, come to that, always cloistered away for 'training'...

"Come on in."

Unfortunately, Akara had been expecting much the same dirt-smudged little boy she'd wrestled in the mud with as a kid. Never mind logic that said he'd have grown up. And even _then_...

"Are you alright, Lady Akara?" Tannusen asked again, stepping inside and leaving the door open. His long blond hair had always been braided as a kid like his sister's, now hung loose and long and _gorgeous_. Features that had always made him a pretty child made him a very pretty adult, now, embarrassingly so. And the same bright blue eyes... the same more-than-a-hint of mischief, now sparkled at her above a charmingly lopsided grin.

"I'm glad you think so, Lady," he suddenly purred, and Akara blinked.

"I said that out loud?"

"Just the word gorgeous."

"O-oh. Erm. So, you've... uh... grown up."

"Just a little," he laughed, pulling out another chair at the small table she was at and sitting down gracefully, "You have as well, yes?"

"Eh," Akara fidgeted with the book in her hands, "only physically. I'm still a punk kid inside."

"I understand," another soft laugh. "We grow like weeds, do we not? And time pays no heed to the desires of the mind."

_Oh, I don't know about that. _"Er, yeah. I guess." Akara stared at him, but she couldn't help it. _This_ was the kid she'd thrown mud-balls at as a little brat?

"And so? _Are_ you alright?" Tannusen folded his hands on the table, white-gloved fingers lacing together, "You have been hiding. Much like old times, in fact."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just hate being here again, you know? And Majere..."

"Ah, your courtship."

"Yeah. He keeps poking around the place... part of his quest to have all of my secrets knotted up in the palm of his hand, I suppose."

"He seems very... yes, _in_ to secrets."

"Do I?"

Akara jumped, and looked up to find a familiar black-robed figure standing in the open doorway. Tannusen immediately got up and offered his chair to the archmage. "Mister Majere! Come, do have a seat, I'm sure Lady Akara won't mind. Will you Lady?"

"N-no..."

Raistlin Majere _stared_ at Tannu. Hard. The blond didn't so much as blink, let alone fidget or start or... anything, really. He seemed to take the Majere death-glare without any issue at all, and Akara watched all of this with interest. Even that smile failed to falter, even just a tad. "And you are?" the mage finally demanded.

"Tannusen," said the blond, with one of his trademark bows that the thief remembered from even as a kid. "Half-brother of Weaponsmaster Alleyana, who I know you have met."

"Interesting."

"I know we don't look much alike, but-"

"No." Raistlin interrupted, "the connection shows in your cheek bones and your jaw line."

"I'd forgotten that you also have an older half-sister," Tannu fairly beamed at the mage, "so you know that things like hair and eye color do not always mean a connection, or lack of."

The archmage nodded.

"Well, I'll leave you two alone now, then," said the blond, and then he was gone... out the door with a backwards wave of one gloved hand. He closed it behind himself, this time, effectively trapping Akara in the room with Raistlin.

"Uh... so," Akara fidgeted as Raistlin finally sat down.

"Where have you been?" the mage demanded quietly after she'd been fidgeting for a little while.

"Er, around. I guess. I haven't actually left the rooms that much..."

"Your father's servants said you were not in here."

"Well, I'm a bit hard to _catch_ sometimes, Majere," Akara snorted softly, "just because no one sees me in a room doesn't mean a whole lot if I don't want to be seen. You never caught me, after all."

"And your wounds?"

"They're still wrapped up, and I've even managed to keep from getting them wet."

Raistlin stared at her for a moment, hard. As though he wasn't sure she could be so dumb about this. And then he sighed, and held out his hand.

"Let me see your arm. You haven't even changed the bandages?"

"Should I have?" Akara blinked, but gave up her arm without fuss. She winced when his fingers closed over the gashed area. It really _was_ sore, but shouldn't it be? Being a sword gash and all?

"Yes. Or at least you should have let _me_ change them," the archmage said in angry, clipped tones as he began unwinding the bandages, "Which I would have done if I could have _found_ you."

"O-oh. Well, next time leave a note, or something."

"I didn't know if you were even in _Krontis_ anymore," Raistlin hissed, momentarily gripping her arm tight enough that she yelped, "let alone if you were using these _rooms_."

"I... er... sorry," Akara felt her eyes widen as she stared at him. Was he actually worried?

"Why did you hide?"

"I just don't deal well with people, Majere. Especially for extended periods of time. I just... I have to disappear," the skin under the wrapping was oddly damp, and the bandages stuck to the wound itself as the mage carefully tugged the cloth free. There was a lot of redness, and a lot of swelling... the skin had puffed grossly around the tiny, uniform stitches that Raistlin had put in. Akara paled.

"Well, _don't_ disappear from me anymore," said Raistlin, in a voice quiet enough that Akara wasn't sure for a moment that he'd said it at all. And then, "You have allowed it to fester, foolish girl."

"I... ugh... that... ow... that really..." she yelped sharply when Raistlin poked carefully at one of the swollen spots between the stitches. "_Shit!_ What was that for!"

"We shall have to numb this, and take out the stitches," said the mage, "and I lack anything small enough to cut them easily."

"We'll ask Jones," Akara said, "she'll have something, I'm sure. But numb it first, okay? She doesn't always do that, I remember..."

"Jones?"

"Local healer, surgeon, and coroner," the thief gulped, "But she's got about as much care for patients being in pain as she has light humor. Only person Alley will let work on her, though, at all, and all those scars Alley's got are from times she's done things on herself rather than let anyone else do it. So her letting anyone do it for her is saying something."

"I see."

"Yeah. Maybe she'll let you just borrow something for a few minutes? I'd much rather you did it then Jones, although I suppose she's got to be really good..."

"I think I may be able to get this one, this one, and this one. And then pull the rest out." Raistlin interrupted her, having been looking at the row of stitches the whole time Akara had rambled about the coroner.

"Oh?"

"It will hurt some, even with the numbing."

"Th-that's okay, I know you'll try not to."

"How is it that you did not know to at least change the bandages?" he asked with some exasperation, turning her arm this way and that while inspecting it further, "I thought you have been living on your own."

"I don't get sliced much. Busted bones once in a while... sure, sprains... I'm a pro with those. But I don't generally have anything that breaks the skin."

"Ah. Well, ideally you will stop jumping between sharp things and archmagi," the mage produced a vial of something thick and brownish from a pouch, and smeared it carefully in the long wound with his fingertips.

"Quit getting sharp things aimed at you and we won't have a problem, will we?" Akara groused, wincing when the mage tightened his grip again for a split second. "I've got a question for you, anyway. You said that it would have taken off your leg?"

"Yes, it was certainly sharp enough to do so," Raistlin let her go and stood, going to the small wash room. The Krinirs were wealthy enough that nearly every bedroom had one of its own, and Grissom Krinir himself had invented a very unique water system for the entire complex... but that was all beside the point. He returned in a few moments with several clean rags, depositing them on the table before drawing his dagger out of his sleeve.

"But it didn't take off my arm. Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"Your move was unexpected to everyone, I'm certain that if he had had time to correct his swing, you would be dead."

"I don't get it, though, if it was that sharp..."

"He expected to slice through my leg. Your arm happened to get in the way suddenly, which turned his attack into more of a fumbling... _chop_."

"So?"

"My brother has always been one to play with swords, and so I do know a little about them. There is a vast difference between treating your sword as an axe, and chopping, and performing a slice," he mimicked a sort of down and backwards slice with his hand, like it was a blade he was cutting meat with.

"Oh. So I interrupted him before he could even start to pull it back like that."

"Yes, you did."

"Good thing I move fast, then," she noted. He held her arm down with one hand, and began picking at stitches with the dagger's tip, not saying anything in reply until two of them had been snipped.

"Yes," Raistlin finally agreed, "although it would be better yet if you did not _hide_ after sustaining an injury on my behalf."

"Oh moons, that's... sick. It's _oozing_."

"Draining," he clarified.

"Ughh..." there came a very loud, brisk knock on her door. Akara jumped, just slightly, and Raistlin was quick to move the knife away from her wound.

"Who is it _now_?" the thief grumbled, before raising her voice, "Come in!"

The door was pushed open and a very imposing, if small, figure stepped into the room. Everything on this person was monochrome except for the pale (but not dead) skin, the brooch at her throat, and those eyes. Akara knew who it was immediately, but felt Raistlin stiffen in mostly-concealed surprise. Golden eyes met amber-hazel, and the newcomer flinched even less than Tannusen had.

Actually, there was a definite challenge there. Chin set and gloved hands slightly clenched; one holding the handle of a black case. "Tannusen informed me that you were still injured," said the woman in that familiar, clipped near-monotone voice that Akara hadn't forgotten. Sixteen plus years, and Megan Jones hadn't changed a blasted hair. She spoke to the thief, but was still staring down Raistlin.

There were probably too many stubborn, strong-willed people in the Krinir complex. Things could get ugly, especially if Jones were involved. Alley wouldn't fight someone for the sake of a fight, Tannu... well, was Tannu. But Megan... she'd drug a person and sew their lips shut if it suited her, and had a few times at that. Jonnah Bigsby had actually had her fingers stitched together as well when she'd woken up.

Well, no one ever messed with that peculiar cat Jones kept around, ever again, after word of lessons like that one got around.

"Uh, um, yeah. My arm's sorta messed up... uh, Majere, this is Megan Jones. Jones, this is Raistlin Majere."

Megan didn't so much as bat an eyelash. "I never would have guessed," the Coroner said, icily, and the two continued their stare-down until Jones' nose wrinkled slightly in disgust and she strode forward, "I smell infection, Krinir. Did you not do anything correctly with this wound?"

"We were working on it," Raistlin interjected smoothly, "Until you interrupted."

"Just as well that I did. A _dagger_, mage? Marvelous for sacrificing small animals, I would suppose, but not so well equipped for releasing a festering wound."

"Jones-" Akara tried to interrupt between the two, but she knew it was useless.

"I was managing well enough," the mage countered stiffly. In reply, Megan snapped her case open on the table, and produced two items. A bottle of something yellowish, and a surgical scalpel from inside another, smaller case. These were set down, and her case re-closed.

"I haven't the time for this. One kills infection, the other cuts stitches. Try not to confuse them. I expect the sharper of the two back when you are done," and with that, the coroner left the room before anything could really be said in reply.

"...You have interesting associates, Akara."

"No shit, Majere."


	9. Just Try Me

**Originally written:**  
11.12.2005

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_I turned around to talk  
I face your eyes  
Fight replaces fright  
To my surprise  
I feel the sun falling  
And I see  
Your soul in your eyes  
As I die_  
- Apoptygma Berserk - Moment of Tranquility

* * *

"We should soak this," Raistlin said after the last stitch was cut and removed, "in as warm of water as we can manage, I should think," the mage stood, and went to her small fireplace. Winter was settling in quickly and so there was always a fire going in rooms that had people in them, including her own borrowed set. He moved her kettle over the fire and then turned back to her. "Do you have a sound enough bucket?"

"Uh, Majere. There's easier ways to do that. We could just set up the tap."

The archmage blinked, and then waited expectantly for an explanation. Akara stared back, realization dawning. "Oh... _oh_. No one's shown you?"

"Considering that I haven't any idea what you are speaking of-"

"Okay, okay, got it. No one's shown you the water system," Akara sighed, standing up. "Take the kettle back out of there unless you're wanting that tea of yours."

He did so, and then watched with narrowed eyes as she picked up what appeared to be a frying pan from a shelf next to the fireplace. She set it on the mantle and snagged a long pair of metal tongs off of a hook. Using her good arm to manipulate it, Akara went about snatching red-hot coals out of the fireplace and setting them in the pan.

A few moments of that, and she set the tongs back on their hook, and picked up the pan by its porcelain-coated handle. "Up the stairs."

"The stairs?" Raistlin blinked. Akara blinked back at him.

"You haven't even noticed the stairs next to every washroom in this place?"

"I went up the ones in my room," he admitted, "but it appeared to simply be a storage room of some sorts. I assumed yours was the same."

Akara just shook her head, and headed for the stairs in question, trailed by an endearingly confused Raistlin Majere. No, it really was kind of cute when he didn't know everything, Akara decided. Not to mention it made her feel like less of an idiot, considering that _she_ was usually the one who had no idea what was going on. "Right, come on then."

The stairs were narrow but sturdy, she held the pan carefully in front of her as they went up a story, through a trap door that the stairs went right on up to. They were then inside one of those 'storage rooms', as Raistlin had put it. Identical to one another in every way.

"Alright, Majere," she said, cheerfully, as she slid aside a metal-plate lid that covered a large, tall vat of water. "This, I'll have you know, was entirely Grissom Krinir's invention. He was a smart one, I can almost forgive him for all the other shit in light of this water system. Everyone in Krontis uses this kind of thing, now."

And then she dumped the coals into the water. They hissed and glowed briefly before being extinguished, but the water was suddenly steaming hot. Grinning roguishly at his expression, Akara marched back downstairs with the pan in hand. She put it back away and then ushered the mage into the small washroom.

There was a bucket here, of course, as well as a standard claw-foot tub for bathing. Anything else you would think a washroom was for, was in a much smaller room that joined this one through another door. It was all very strange and complex but made a lot of sense considering the strange water system.

The thief picked up the bucket and held it under a sort of spout over the tub. Then she pulled on a small metal stick on the side of the spout.

Hot water emerged. Akara turned her head to catch Raistlin's shocked expression, and grinned wider. When the bucket was too heavy for her to hold up with her weakened arm, she set it down under the flow of water. A few more seconds and it was full, and she shoved the stick back into the spout. The water stopped.

"Tubes," Akara explained, "made out of metal. There's also a peculiar way that they can pull water _up_ and into the vat from the well in the back courtyard, but I don't know how that works. Probably a little magic involved in that part, I don't know."

Shock had been entirely replaced by a sort of hungry interest, and Akara knew that Raistlin would soon be tracing metal tubes all over the Krinir house. Possibly while muttering. She stifled a giggle.

"Actually," Raistlin said, when she straightened with the bucket in her hands, "pour that in there."

"Huh?"

"If you use the whole thing, the water will stay hot for far longer."

Akara blinked at him, glanced at the tub, blinked again, and then stared at the mage for a moment with narrowed green eyes. "Wait, what?"

"You can remain dressed," came his impatient reply, "simply get in and leave your arm submerged," when she didn't move, he continued, "unless you would rather sit next to it and hold your arm over the side?"

"I guess this will work okay..." the thief finally agreed after another few moments of staring went by. She poured in the water and opened the spout again, before bending to pull off her boots. Raistlin hurried out of the room as though afraid she really was going to strip entirely, and she snorted.

"I'm staying covered, Majere, much as I'd hate to disappoint you."

The mage sneered at her, coming back in with a wooden sitting stool in hand. Akara rolled her eyes as she unbuckled the belt of pouches around her waist and slung it across the tops of her empty boots. All of this, at least, she could manage easily enough with her off hand. Right now even looking at her right arm was a cause of pain.

She stopped the water and frowned at Raistlin as he set the stool next to the expensive tub and sat down.

"I don't need a body-guard, Majere. It's just a soak."

"I will check on your arm periodically," was his terse reply, "and make certain that you do not climb out early. Now, kindly get into the water."

"You're a bossy one, ain't you?" Akara muttered, glaring. Raistlin simply stared, clearly unimpressed with her observation. "Fine, fine. Getting in. You just want to see me looking like a wet dog, is what it is."

She was already sitting in the water, fully clothed, loose strands of hair around her face curling from the steam, when he replied, "Perhaps."

"Creep."

"Thief."

"Evil creep."

"Unimaginative thief."

"Hmph," Akara nearly went to fold her arms over her chest, but remembered to keep her injured one, which truly _was_ starting to feel a bit better, under the surface of the water. So, instead, she lifted her good arm and slung it over the side, fingers tapping annoyance against the expensive, but effective thick material.

Raistlin's stool was extremely close, she noted, considering and then discarding the idea of tipping his chair. It wasn't worth giving the mage a concussion. Actually, nothing was worth something quite as nasty as that, she decided. This whole love thing was making her soft in the brain, she just knew it.

"What do you think of the belt?" she asked at random, gesturing at it with her hand, though he likely couldn't see the movement.

"I was just trying to decide if I want to know what is in the pouches or not," Majere admitted, eyeing it, "I can tell where you got the idea, however."

"Don't flatter yourself too much. I've kept my tools of the trade that way for longer than I've been sneaking in and out of your tower. Go ahead and poke around in it if you want, nothing blows up... well, except for the big pouch near the buckle."

Raistlin, ever open to new information - even something as silly as what a thief would keep on hand - took the bait admirably. He bent forward on the stool, picking up the belt in one hand. Just enough of a distraction that he didn't notice his _own_ belt of pouches come untied until the entire thing slipped right off and was tossed half way across the washroom.

And before he could really react, Akara had looped her good arm around his thin waist, and jerked him straight into the tub with a huge splash of hot water and the clattering of a stool hitting the floor.

_Good thing I'm still pretty soft everywhere else. _Akara smirked as the sputtering archmage flailed wildly and then managed to push himself upright in the water. Her mental self winced. _Of course, he's bony as hell. I'm going to have bruises in strange places from that landing.  
_  
"By the _Gods__!_ What in all of the abyss was that for?" the man practically shrieked, still struggling for balance against the weight of soaked velvet and a tangle of limbs. It was a miracle his lungs didn't go crazy, but then... at least the water was warm, and he apparently hadn't swallowed any of it in his surprise.

He was pissed.

He was also _very_ soaked. And really, Akara was getting used to an infuriated Raistlin Majere, so his anger didn't have quite the effect he might have hoped for.

She giggled.

The archmage, who had finally pushed himself up onto his hands and knees over the top of her, blinked. And blinked again, snapping his jaw shut, because the thief then proceeded to calmly pull his hair out of his face and tuck it behind his ears with her good hand.

"Maybe I just wanted to see you looking like a wet dog." Akara said, smirking. She ran a fingertip down the bridge of his nose and bit back a grin. He was already flushed from being so angry, but his odd coloration only darkened at the overly-cute gesture from her.

"You... _that_ is why you pulled off my belt?" Raistlin nearly stuttered. Leave it to Majere to latch onto a mostly unrelated fact in the face of... well. Whatever this was.

"Well, I know you have some pretty expensive spell components in there. I didn't want to soak them."

"Thoughtful, for someone who just pulled me into a vat of water."

"Hot water. With cushioning, I might add."

"I'm afraid _your_ belt didn't make it," he sat back on his heels, now, holding up her familiar belt up in one hand as though it was a poisonous snake. Akara grinned roguishly, and Raistlin suddenly looked even more uncertain than he did before.

"I'm a thief, Majere. You think _anything_ I carry on my jobs gets hurt by a little water?" she snickered, plucked it out of his hand, and tossed it into the puddle on the floor. "Now sit back or something. You're already in here with me, and we're both fully clothed, so you might as well enjoy the water."

He glowered, but finally did ease himself backwards to lean against the other side. It wasn't really built for two people, so they were fairly tangled still, but it was manageable. "See what happens when you call me unimaginative?"

"Perhaps I shall have to insult you more often."

"Hmph."


	10. I'll Catch You

**Originally written:**  
01.31.2006

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_You couldn't be more wrong, darling  
I never gave out these signs  
You misunderstand all meaning  
Snap out of it  
I'm not falling for this one_  
- Frou Frou - Psychobabble

* * *

"Come on Majere, don't be an ass," Akara huffed, nudging the stool a bit closer to the roaring fireplace.

"No," said the mage in question, leaning against the frame of the doorway between the washroom and this room. His belt of spell components, which he'd already checked to be sure her mishandling hadn't damaged, dangled from one of his hands. The thief stared back at him for a moment, folding her arms... carefully... and frowned.

"Majere... seriously. It's colder than shit out in the hall and it's not exactly 'walk around in sopping wet clothing' temperature in here, either, for someone with _your_ health record," she pointed to the stool again. "Sit down, please?"

"..." it seemed that this would turn into a full out argument. But then he finally heaved a long-suffering sigh and approached. Raistlin sat down on the wooden stool with as much dignity as a soaked, long-haired mage in a full set of clothes could possibly muster. He even went so far as to make certain he wasn't sitting on said velvet robes, the split in front and back meant for a saddle revealing black trousers of a more practical material.

Of course, this was all done with remarkable flair, and what dramatic moment wouldn't be complete without the _look_ from those strange eyes? Although when delivered through clumps of soaked hair clinging to his skin, it rather lost the intended effect.

_And maybe gains a new one. Damn him... _"I swear you act like a fucking cat half of the time." Akara muttered, stalking back into the washroom for a moment and pulling half of the towels off of their shelf. She came back to the fireplace ready to resume the argument.

"Now, if you would take off the robe, you and it would both dry faster, and look-! There's plenty of spare towels..." the thief set the stack down on a nearby end table and held one up as though making a screen between herself and his upper torso. "Big and fluffy towels, no less..." she continued, waving the cloth a bit like a matador with a red flag.

"No," Raistlin's eyes narrowed, challenging.

"You'll get sick if you don't dry off fast enough, you know that," Akara sighed, mentally grounding herself in place. She wasn't going to back down on something like this, no way and no how. If she couldn't somehow bully the man into taking care of himself, then he was doomed for sure. Another sickness like the one he'd experienced during her last visit to the Tower could be his last, and while he might not remember it so clearly; she most certainly did.

"I will do as you say on one condition," said the mage after a long, contemplative moment, jarring her out of her scheming.

"Yeah?" the thief blinked, "What's that, then?"

"You will tell me, finally, why you avoid using my first name," Raistlin said, arching an eyebrow before adding, "In detail."

"I, uh... erm..." Akara actually backed away from the seated archmage a step before catching herself and stopping, thinking fast. "Well, fine. If you insist. But the robe first."

_After all, I've distracted him from that question before, right?_ Or so she reasoned. Maybe she'd be lucky again. When the mage nodded and reached for the ties to the soaked cloth in question, setting his components on the floor again, Akara nearly sighed in relief. She took the robe from him - keeping her eyes averted from the bare upper torso in the firelight - and hung it up next to the fireplace to dry.

The thief then turned back to him, holding the towel out like a screen again for him to take and wrap up in. Words were already on her lips, some inane thing or other to sidetrack him with, perhaps about the pipe system in the ancient house. But when a pair of too-strong hands clamped down on her wrists, she was the one derailed instead.

"M-Majere?" probably the wrong thing to say.

Akara winced as his hands tightened, and the towel slipped out of them entirely, their grips loosening in surprise and with the pressure on her tendons. The cloth pooled onto the floor, and the thief suddenly found that her feet were simply fascinating. Her cheeks burned.

"Tell me, Akara. Surely it isn't so bad as this?" Raistlin asked, voice deceptively soft as he leaned forward, "you have told me far worse secrets, I am certain," he tugged on her wrists, but her balance was sound and she didn't budge. She looked up before thinking better of it, indignant and ready to argue that he'd _made_ her tell him about...  
_  
Golden skin illuminated by the fireplace, tangled white hair splayed across the carpet. Teeth clenched and eyes barely open, the taste of his skin... like lightning, from his magic.  
_  
Akara paled. Raistlin was half naked, soaked, and the roaring fire behind her was... the thief clenched her eyes shut, lurching backwards to no avail. The mage didn't let her retreat even an inch. "It's too personal," she choked.

"Your reason is too personal?" he laughed, short and humorless, and suddenly _jerked_ her forward and down by the wrists. Akara yelped, taken by surprise this time and staggering, but she didn't fall, and he didn't seem to be trying to make her.

"Majere..." the thief felt her blush grow, impossibly, worse... surely her head would simply catch fire at this rate. Those trousers, soaked as they were, didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination. She knew she was likewise still soaked, and her thankfully-baggy clothes were clinging to her skin accordingly - if wrinkled beyond recognition, but at least she was fully-dressed!  
_  
Yeah, and whose idea was the dunking _and_ the getting him to take off the robe? _She'd doomed herself, there was no need to pretend otherwise.

"That is the wrong name," Raistlin whispered, oblivious to her thoughts, "and still no reason."

"I told you. It's too personal to call you... t-that," the thief stammered, "let me go, please..."

"No, not this time," said the mage, though he did relax his grip enough that her wrists didn't hurt so bad, if only barely, "and what do you mean, 'it's too personal'? It is just my name, Akara."

"It... it's..." Akara stammered for a moment, before clenching her eyes shut, "It's a Krontis thing, Majere. I'm not a mage... I'm not supposed to call you by your first name."

"That is a stupid notion," he murmured, releasing one of her wrists suddenly, but when she attempted escape he simply jerked her a step closer, firmly, his free hand resting on her lower back. Akara's eyes widened.

"Damn you, Majere, stop this!"

"Explain yourself, and I might," Raistlin said, tone as hard as steel, "what does it matter if you are or are not a mage?"

"Look, I know that before the War and all, mages weren't that big a thing out there in regular Krynn. People didn't like 'em, right?" she rushed through an explanation of a sorts, though it was much like saying 'oh, yes, the Abyss is sort of a nasty place', for detail. "Well here in Krontis it's always been the opposite. A skilled magic-user is automatic nobility, even."

"Which is why the Krinirs..."

"Are so damn interested in you, yes..."

"...And are not so interested in you," Majere was clearly connecting the dots without much issue, "you said that you were tested for magical ability, once?"

"And that I don't have any, that's right," Akara was finally released, and she quickly stepped away, stooping to pick up the towel. She handed it to him and then slipped around behind the mage as he wrapped the cloth around his shoulders, snatching another one off of the pile as she went. Raistlin jumped, surprised, when she began working on his hair... but he didn't comment on it, and so she continued.

The silence went from awkward to quietly companionable before he spoke again.

"You should change," Raistlin said, "or you could catch ill."

"Nah, I'll be fine for a while," replied the thief, "I get soaked to the skin pretty often on missions, you know. Lots of rain..." her voice trailed off, and it was another long string of moments before they spoke again.

The fire kept up the conversation all by itself in pops and hisses.

"I believe my hair is dry," said the archmage, finally. His voice was soft, but still managed to startle her. Akara jumped a bit and then blushed, realizing she'd spent the last, what, ten minutes fussing with his head? She'd even gone so far as to start running her fingers through it, easing out the knots, but now she froze in place.

"That... does not mean that you must stop," he continued, strangely hesitant. The thief risked leaning to the side to glance at his profile, wondering if something was wrong, only to find that his eyes were shut. "I just thought that you might like to know."

"Ah... uh, I was spacing out. That's all." Akara gulped, even while she privately marveled at how soft the long white strands were. She was vaguely aware that her arm had started to throb again, but the skin around the wound wasn't dry yet, and besides which Raistlin hadn't said anything about it yet and he surely knew what he was doing...

"And now you are petting me, again," Raistlin all but sighed, interrupting her mental rambling. And it was true - the cat burglar had resumed playing with his hair, although the tangles had long since been worked out. Well, he'd been sure to point out that he hadn't told her to stop, so.

"You don't seem to mind too much," she voiced the thought, this time not pausing in what she was doing.

"Hn," he murmured, then yawned, "this is true. However, if you make me doze off and I collapse off of this stool..."

"Then I'll catch you. I always do, don't I?" Akara said without thinking, and then stammered in embarrassment, "Er, uh, that is..."

"Yes, you always do," he interrupted her, his tone strangely soft. The thief felt her face heat again, and she released the mage's hair, backing away.

"I, um, I'm going to go change now," she said, before snatching up the correct bag up off of the floor at the foot of the bed, and dashing into the washroom. Akara shut the door behind her and slumped down against it, sitting on the floor. The thief took a moment to stare off into space, wondering, pondering, replaying, before she blinked and opened the bag.

She was down to two shirts and three pairs of trousers, she noted, annoyed. Akara fingered the rough, plain material of the spare as she unwrapped it from around her mask. At least she always went for the cheap and easy to replace clothes, of a shade of brown that was both easy to come by and easy to hide in.

Black and grey simply didn't blend into the shadows like these did, as any competent thief knew, and it made her very inconspicuous at, say, the_Golden Hourglass_. It made her stick out like a sore thumb, here, but the point had never been to impress anyone.

Regardless, Akara was almost out of clothing, and she stared at the revealed wooden mask for a moment as she considered how she'd go about getting more of the same stuff.  
_  
I bet there's a store or two in the poorer districts that have something like I wear. Cheap to weave, cheap to dye, sturdy... unless you keep company with Majere, that is._ The thought made her snort, running her fingertips over the pronounced features of the mask. _I'd rather not make contact with the Mockers if I can avoid it. Bad enough that the kid already knows I'm around again_...

A tap on the door made her jump.

"Akara?" Raistlin's voice came through the wooden barrier, "Is something wrong?"

"No, of course not," the cat burglar yelled back, though the volume wasn't necessary. She leaned her head back against the door and looked at the ceiling, "Everything's -_peachy_-, Majere. I totally get my kicks out of making a fool out of myself, truly."

"You do a very good job of it, then," Majere's tone was dry, as though he simply couldn't resist the come-back. Akara snorted, but then he continued, "When you come out, I need to tend to your arm."

"Fine, fine, I'll be out in a bit Majere. Go back to the fire."

He apparently did what she said for once, because there wasn't a reply. Akara snorted again and climbed back to her feet, stripping off her soaked clothes and changing into an identical, but dry set. The crude and extra-tight wrapping she often bound her chest with for missions looked tempting for some reason, but she realized that she was just being defensive, and left it in the bag.

_Hair'll dry faster if I take the tie out, _she considered, then discarded the idea. _Bah, screw it. I don't get sick like he does._ Akara was just stalling, anyway, and she knew this. Sighing, she grabbed the bag and left the room, tossing it back into its place on her way back to the again-seated archmage.

"Why have you not unpacked anything?" Raistlin inquired, motioning for her to come around between him and the fireplace again. She did so, and he took her arm, examining it closely as she fidgeted.

"Same reason I don't stand flat-footed around any of my relations, Majere," Akara winced as the mage's grip tightened for a moment at the use of his last name, but she didn't correct herself either. Just because she'd told him why, didn't mean she was going to change...

"You wish to be ready to flee?" he guessed, plucking a roll of bandages off of a folded towel next to the stool. The mage must have had the roll in one of those pouches of his, Akara guessed, because they were dry.

"Damn right I do," she answered as he started wrapping her forearm. "What, no stitches this time?"

"No, the infection would simply build again, inside. This is mostly to keep the wound clean, although it will need regular exposure to air and changing of the wrappings to heal properly..." Raistlin tied off his neat wrap-job and then tugged on her wrist. "Sit. I will look at the crossbow wound as well."

Akara stared at him. Long and hard, until enough of a silence had gone by for the mage to look up and arch an eyebrow.

"...You better not rip this shirt, Majere, I fucking swear..." she grumbled, voice trailing off as she finally did as she was asked. The thief turned her back and lowered to the floor, staring at the fire in front of her. Raistlin wordlessly hooked a finger in the wide collar of her tunic and pulled it to the side.

Loose as it was, the unlaced opening stretched far enough for him to get a look at the gouge. Or at least, that's what she assumed when his fingertips traced the wound. It didn't hurt that much, and she hadn't given it much thought compared to the bandaged arm.

"So? Did I screw that one up somehow?" Akara finally asked when he didn't seem to be offering any information.

"This one appears to be healing well. You have been soaking it?"

"Well yeah... it's just the arm that I was keeping dry," she fidgeted, fingers plucking at the fraying seams of her trouser legs. Raistlin released the collar of her shirt, finally, and she straightened it.

She was just about to stand back up when the previously folded towel dropped over her head.

"Hey!" Akara yelped, reaching up to pull it out of her face. The leather string in her hair came undone, but before she could protest there were these _f__ingers_ working on her scalp through the cloth. Her hands dropped back into her lap as she gaped at the fire. "M-Majere?"

"Simply returning the favor," he said, as though speaking of nothing at all of interest.

"Hnnn..." was Akara's response as she leaned into his work, very much like a cat, and Raistlin smirked at the back of her head.


	11. Scalpels and Stuff

**Originally written:**  
03.06.2006

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_You're so pretty, could I get the nerve  
You said, "I love you, pretty"  
What do I deserve  
I wonder if pretty's gonna waste  
My monster has all the time in the day_  
- Kidneythieves - Pretty

* * *

"I..." the thief yawned hugely, straightening up, "I dozed off?"

"Yes." Raistlin's voice startled her, close, from right behind and above the thief. Akara jumped where she was sitting, and then blushed to realize she'd been slumped against his leg. The side of her face felt a bit odd from having used a very bony knee as a pillow.

This, the cat-burglar decided, was an awkward moment. Not that those weren't standard fare around Majere. Moons, but she still wasn't used to dealing with people at all. Even if she wasn't quite as easy to mess with as before - or so she hoped, anyway - Akara knew that she was still easy prey to the manipulative black-robe.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" she sat perfectly still, not in a hurry to stand up. Standing up meant turning around. Turning around meant having to see if he was toying with her or not, if those lips would be quirked just ever so slightly...

"You appeared to be in need of rest."

"Oh." Akara blinked, "I did?" she never slept well in this house, there was no real way she _could_, with the ghosts of an unpleasant past drifting after her at all times. Unpleasant enough that she'd preferred the streets and sewers of Krontis, and unpleasant enough that she had wiped out her own official existence. A ghost; a slip of shadow from the top of the mortuary, watching the funeral of a red-robe woman.

That same woman who would have, if alive, looked straight past her as though she were made of fog. Not a Krinir, not anyone, not even real, not even _alive_as far as anyone would say.

Ah, yes, they would say, they remembered Akara Krinir. A little girl in a dress with mud on the palms of her hands. A tomboy with no magical ability, best to be married off as soon as she was old enough, to anyone who would have her. Which would have been very few with her lack of manners. Strange, how she died. No body found, no...

"You are trembling..." Raistlin said, his voice tugging her back out of her dark thoughts. A hand settled on her shoulder, strangely hesitant. "Akara?"

She realized that he was right. The thief had tensed up so much that she was shaking, and when a second hand joined the first, radiating that odd heat, she actually jumped. Strong fingers moved, working at the muscle between shoulders and neck. Akara gulped. "What are you doing?" she choked out, trying to shrug off his hands. He simply kneaded harder until it almost hurt, and she slumped in defeat, head bowed.

"Attempting to help. I am allowed to do this as, after all, I _am_your suitor, am I not?"

"Are not." Akara growled, lifting her head slightly to stare at the fire again, "You're just faking it."

"Ah, but a good liar never drops the act," Raistlin said, tone smug as he found and unraveled another knot in the firm muscle beneath his fingers, "You can never can tell who may be watching."

"It's just you and me in here, Majere," the thief grumbled, aware finally that she really _was_quite tired. It was no real wonder that she'd dozed off against his leg, with the fire going full-tilt in front of her and - yes - Raistlin doing his thing to her scalp. He had to be up to something, she reasoned, he was being far too nice.

"As I said," replied the archmage. But he didn't allow her time to question his logic before he continued, "Now, what has you so upset, my dear thief?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Akara said, stiffly, "I don't even want to think about it," but Raistlin gave her only silence for a reply, and so she found herself continuing despite herself, "I thought that I'd perfected the art of not thinking about it over the years, but, I guess that wasn't true. Over the last few days I've realized I never perfected anything at all except not being _here._"

"Ah, your past life."

She tensed up again, summarily undoing his work on her shoulders. Raistlin didn't comment, he simply kept going as though completely unsurprised. But then, she reasoned, most things either came back to him, or came back to this house. So, it really wouldn't be much of a surprise at all if he knew it wasn't about him this time, would it?

"They told everyone that I was murdered," Akara explained after many long, uncounted minutes had gone by in silence. "After enough time went by that they gave up. So I found your choice of words to be... ironic."

"A change of subject, then," Raistlin sounded... nervous? Just faintly, barely there at all, but the thief was gradually learning to read him like a particularly tricky lock. And really, the image wasn't all that far off, was it? Regardless, she noticed. The mage shifted on the stool, his hands pausing for a moment as though he were choosing his next words very carefully.

"I have been told that there is a... formal event, to take place in one month's time," the mage cleared his throat, "One that I would be hard pressed to successfully bow my way out of, being that I am courting a Krinir daughter."

"Pretending to," Akara corrected automatically, uncomfortable with just letting it go as assumed when they were alone. She mentally rummaged through her memories, knowing that if it was something political enough to force a guest to attend, then it had to be a holiday. The thief hadn't paid any thought to Krontis holidays when living in Palanthas... "Oh, Farethire's Day," she blinked, remembering now with an almost audible snap. "It marks the start of a week that the servants all have off. It's when construction of Krontis was completed... anyway, the nobles throw all sorts of stupid parties on Farethire's Day because it's the last night for a full week that they have servants to boss around."

"And the Krinir house?" Raistlin prompted, going back to working on her shoulders.

"The biggest party, second only to the Palace. This place will be stuffed full of mages, probably all day long before the actual event even occurs," she sighed, unhappy memories of sneering faces and swirling robes filtering through her mind from event after event. "Everyone in the Krinir house above the age of six knows how to dance, remember? And that's typical to all of Krontis, so I'm sure that will be most of it."

"I see. I had assumed as much, but had hoped that would not be the case," the mage sighed, and Akara shrugged. But then he continued, in an oddly small voice, and suddenly she knew why he seemed nervous, "I... I do not know how to dance, Akara... I haven't a clue..."

The thief blinked, stunned for a moment. She then tipped her head back until she was peering at him from an odd angle. Raistlin looked distinctly uncomfortable, if resolute, and his hands hadn't stopped. Akara blinked again.

"There's something you _don't_know how to do?" the words tumbled out before she could rethink them. "I, uh, I mean, um, Majere... that's kind of... well... eheheh... not that I think you're perfect or anything-" she carefully ignored his snort, "-but, well... wow. I might expect you to not know how to knit or something, but dancing? You're an archmage, don't you end up going to stuff? Like, you know, Conclave... stuff?"

"I do not attend their..." a corner of his mouth twitched with amusement, "...stuff."

"Oh," the thief straightened, looking once more into the fire, eyes wide. "Oh... that might complicate things, then."

"Indeed. I was hoping that I may be taught enough on the subject to not make a fool of myself," Raistlin let that statement hang in the air as he shifted his hands to the sides, gripping the muscles above her biceps. Akara wasn't very strong; she was built for pure speed and agility over brute strength. So the cat-burglar wasn't bulky as, say, a warrior - by any stretch of the imagination - but what was there was in very good condition.

Much like Raistlin himself, only he wasn't even built for speed and agility... simply survival. He was much better off on horseback than on foot, where as Akara could jog along side for nearly a full day's travel. A thief who periodically taunted her targets knew how to pace herself for long bouts of running. Though generally it involved much less open road and a lot more alley-ways and ditches.

"Um, so you're hoping that I can help find you a teacher?" she ventured when she realized he was waiting for some kind of reply.

"I was hoping that you would teach me yourself," Raistlin replied. Akara was silent, stunned, and so he continued, "I... I could teach you something in return, if you wish, card tricks; sleight-of-hand perhaps..." his voice trailed off, and he shifted on the stool again. He was obviously very, very uncomfortable with asking her to do this at all.

"Why me?" the thief finally asked, "I mean, we could get someone who actually knows _how_to teach dancing to do it, and then I bet that you'd get a lot more out of it in time for Farethire's Day."

"If anyone must see me not knowing what I am doing," Raistlin sighed, "I would much prefer that it be you, rather than a stranger."

"I, uh, wow," Akara blinked, realizing that she seemed to be doing that a lot today. Both the stammering and the blinking in surprise. She glanced down at the faintly metallic fingers, which had shifted to her biceps. Raistlin was leaning down to accomplish this, she could feel his breath on the top of her head. "Oh, so _that's_why you're doing this?"

"Doing what?" he asked, all innocence.

"Giving me a freaking _massage_, Majere. What else?" the thief groused, but it was hard to actually be annoyed at the moment. How did his hands get that strong? She mused that his brother probably couldn't hold a sword as tightly as Raistlin could hold a wrist, just to drive a point home.

"Ah, that. I suppose it may have something to do with it, yes."

* * *

"She has agreed to practice dancing with me," Raistlin said idly, compelled beyond reason to verbally prod at the dark-haired doctor. The woman in question had barely looked up when he had knocked, had simply barked a sharp 'enter!'. Upon finding out who he was with barely an upwards flicker of her odd eyes, she had impatiently told him to leave the 'sharp, pointy object on the desk by the door - yes, that one - and then kindly get out'.

Something about this made the generally quiet and, yes, likewise impatient and snappish Raistlin Majere, feel as though he'd been challenged.

"As fascinated as I truly am by your budding romance with Akara, Majere," there was sarcasm dripping from that oddly-monotone voice, somehow, he just knew it. "I do believe that I told you to get _out,_" and still she did not look up from the dead man on her work-table, carefully separating a lung from the tissue around it with the steady - gloved - hands of a professional.

Raistlin leaned against the doorframe, watching. Megan Dorothy Jones was a doctor, a surgeon, and one of the very few _true_coroners he knew of in existence. She didn't have any family in Krontis, no one really knew where she'd come from or where she'd learned her trade. Rumor had it that the Abyss had coughed her up after getting sick of her less than charming personality. For some reason, Raistlin doubted the rumor, although he could see where it was coming from.

He'd found all of this out by means of listening to servant gossip and by flatly asking several people, including Akara and Weaponsmaster Alley. The only thing everyone seemed to agree on was that Jones was incredibly good at medicine; good enough at it that she could get away with saying what others were too polite to, or too polite to even think of.

"I was simply making conversation while in the process of returning a borrowed item of some importance," he said, tone artfully lofty.

"Consider the conversation made," Megan said, sharply, as she deposited the lung in a metal tray. She then finally looked up. "You don't appear to be ill."

"One of my few friends in Solace allowed me to assist her in dissecting things," Raistlin said, "in order to learn from them. Death has never bothered me."

"I see," yellowish eyes narrowed slightly, and Jones set the tray aside before stripping off her gore-coated gloves. "Sit down," she snapped, pointing briefly at a nearby, uncomfortable looking wooden chair. The doctor then turned to a shelf, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves and taking down a small wooden case.

"Excuse me?" the archmage raised an eyebrow.

"Either sit down or get out. If you do not pick one of the two, I will stab you with a scalpel. And if you resist, I will poison you," came Megan's flat voice. "I am very good with poisons, Majere. Having dealt with their end results and worked against their progress many, many more times than you would care to believe."

"I believe you," Raistlin said, sitting down. Leaving was giving up. This, was just continuing the game. And he had something to attain, if he could get the doctor to actually talk. Akara spoke fondly of her despite her disposition, and he suspected that the thief and the coroner knew one another quite well. If Akara could befriend Raistlin himself, he reasoned, then this doctor wasn't such a far shot.

"Do you smoke?" Megan asked, turning back towards him and apparently not at all surprised to see him sitting. She approached with the case, opening it and setting it on a table next to him. This room, large and well-lit, was strangely full of tables of various types.

"No, I do not," the mage blinked, pulling back when she reached for his face with one gloved hand. Jones paused, frowning lightly.

"I am checking you over, Majere. Being as that I am somewhat qualified to do so, you may as well stop flinching," this time she succeeded in capturing his head, as he held perfectly still out of sheer stubbornness. The mage narrowed his eyes at her, watching her wither and decay, but was interrupted by the shock of having the lids of his right eye pulled widely apart from one another. Raistlin blinked his other eye, the captured one held firmly open as the doctor peered at it.

"You want information on Akara, that much is obvious," Megan said, releasing his eye after a long moment of examining it. "You have deduced, correctly, that I knew her as a child and was present during the entire ordeal surrounding her life as a Krinir. Rather than ask her, and risk having her tense up into a ball of misery, you have come here in the pretense of returning my scalpel, to try and win me to your side."

"All of this from looking at my eye?" Raistlin drawled automatically.

"Of course, Majere," she said, doing the same to his left eye as she had to the right. This time she shined a small crystal at it, as though seeing how fast it adjusted. "You cannot tell the present from an eye, only the past and the future. Ironic, I would say, considering the shape of yours."

"And so?" he asked once she'd released him again. It was probably not a good idea to bait her when she had his eyes pried open, he figured. He could easily hurt her with a spell before she could do any damage, but when it came to his future ability to see what he was doing, he preferred not to take any risks. It would be difficult to run his experiments and read his books without his vision left intact. Funny how that worked.

"By your eyes, I can tell that you did not sleep well last night, nor the night before it." Jones replied curtly.

"The future, then, doctor?"

"That you will not sleep well tonight, either," she said, rummaging about in the case. "The eyes are linked to sleeping behaviors, archmage. Yours may be oddly colored and have strangely-shaped pupils, but the veins and the reactions are the same nonetheless."

"Observant," Raistlin noted.

"Competent, Majere. I realize that it is a terribly rare thing out there in Krynn, but do try and keep up," the doctor closed the case and went to retrieve another, clearly not finding what she wanted in this one. Raistlin wondered how many live patients she had 'checked over' as of late. Did every case in this room have three scalpels strapped to the inside of the lid?

"And what does this have to do with anything medical, doctor, besides whether or not I may be up at night?" asked the archmage, eyebrows raising.

"Sleep is when the body repairs itself," Megan spoke as though to a child, "I myself may skip it on a regular basis, but then _I_do not have lungs that are trying to quit on me, either," she turned back to him, holding a vaguely Y-shaped device in hand, the bottom some sort of rope with a disk at the end. "Open your robe."

"Pardon?" Raistlin nearly started in surprise at the matter-of-fact order from the unpleasant woman. Instead, he glared.

"Mister Majere," Jones frowned lightly, "I have had countless mages, warriors, and assassins on my operating table. Both alive and meant to stay that way, and alive and meant to be killed for information. Many people try to intimidate me, whether by size or by attitude, but I know too much about what makes them tick to be very impressed. Now," she narrowed her own eyes in a glare, "do at least _attempt_to cooperate. I am hardly doing this for the pleasant scenery."

"Very well," the mage snapped, undoing the hidden bows with sharp movements. "Do whatever it is that you think you are doing, so that I may leave, having said that I 'made an attempt'..."


	12. Paging Doctor Jones

**Originally written:**  
05.03.06

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_Slow heart dark wait down love black canvas  
Revolve within, you understand  
Fragile earth where cracks in the temperature  
Keep it cool to give, you understand_  
- Imogen Heap - Canvas

* * *

"Interesting," said the doctor, pulling the disk away from his rib-cage and taking the other two ends of the Y shaped contraption out of her ears. Over the course of the last ten minutes or so, Raistlin felt that he had been quite thoroughly violated. The disk had been on his chest, over his heart, against his ribs, and in much the same places but in reverse against his back. For that, he'd had to shrug out of his robes entirely, finding himself yet again bare to the waist outside of the privacy of his own borrowed bedchamber.

This was not something that he was used to. Let alone while obeying orders on how to breathe, of all things, which he'd followed as best as he could mostly out of pure curiosity. It really would be the death of him, someday.

"Interesting?" Raistlin prompted, when she didn't seem inclined to continue. He pulled the heavy velvet back on and closed when she went to put her contraption away.

"Quite," she answered as he tied the robes in place with deft, practiced movements. The doctor turned back to him and folded her arms. "Tell me, can you even count the number of times you have had pneumonia?"

"...No," the mage admitted. He had always been so sickly, even before the Test, that a count of the times his lungs had filled with fluid would be fairly impossible.

"I wonder how much actual lung is left in you?" Megan said as though speaking to the air, "From the sounds of it, were I to cut you open I would find very little useable tissue in their place, and quite a lot of scar tissue instead. What is actually still functioning at all is probably discolored as well, and I hate to think of what havoc the lack of proper amount of air is doing to the rest of your organs," she turned away long enough to pull a sheet over the cadaver, before turning back to him again. "Now, I am to understand that there is a tea you drink to help with the pain," at his nod, she demanded, "Right then, let me see it."

Reminding himself that the doctor was one of very few links he would find to Akara's apparently mage-centered history, Raistlin produced the pouch from an inner pocket in his robes, and handed it over. The doctor didn't open it as he expected; instead, she simply set it down on yet another convenient table.

"And what is in this?" she asked. He listed off the ingredients from memory, and if he had hoped she would be impressed by the mixture, then he was in for disappointment. The doctor shook her head after he'd finished, and eyed the pouch as though she'd very much like to dispose of it. "Who gave you such a recipe?"

"Par-Salian, the head of the Conclave," Raistlin replied, wondering where exactly the caustic woman was taking this thread of questioning. She seemed difficult for him to predict, as though she hardly even thought along the same lines as most people. And did she ever not wear gloves? He seemed to remember a pair even when she had appeared at Akara's door.

"Ah, another _mage,_ " the nearly-monotone voice fairly dripped with disdain, "that _does_ explain a few things, then."

"Excuse me?" Raistlin drew himself up in the chair, "I hardly see a problem with-"

"Mages are not doctors, mister _Majere,_ " Megan Jones interrupted him sharply, "Some of you may dabble in battlefield medicines, for obvious reasons. You might know one herb from another, and even how to treat various sicknesses - but you are, regardless, not dedicated professionals."

She opened a drawer in the table the pouch sat on, and snatched up a glass vial. This, she handed to the angry archmage, who took it automatically along with his pouch of ground up herbs.

"The tea they gave you helps the pain, Majere. And that is all well and good, but it does nothing to stop further damage," her tone, still cold and flat, managed to push the logic of what she was saying straight past his indignant anger. Raistlin found said anger to be fading as fast as it had come to him, and he listened as she continued. It sounded like the Conclave to give him something that would only ease the pain of his deterioration, and only out of initial pity at that...

"There is nothing I could give you to repair what damage is already there," Jones seemed entirely unconcerned at how close she had come to being fried. She wasn't even looking at him - instead, she was writing on a small piece of parchment, "However, two drops of that in each cup of your tea will help prevent what little lung you have left from abandoning you," the paper was held out to him, and again he took it automatically.

"The directions for making it," Raistlin said, looking the short bit of writing over, "You realize, then, that I may be leaving at any time?"

"Yes, and taking Akara with you, if I understand the way you two work," Megan stared at him for a moment, measuring, "An interesting pair, you make. The leader of the Mockers and the dark archmage of Krynn," his carefully-neutral expression must have still given away some of his puzzlement, because Jones continued, "I take it that she hasn't told you anything about her life in Krontis, before _or_ after her exile from this house? That makes sense."

"I... have not really asked," Raistlin said, "Or rather, when I have, it has been about something specific, like her mother's funeral."

"And you have probably never told her a thing about your own history," Megan guessed out loud, shaking her head, "You two are not nearly as close as you act."

"My past is largely public knowledge," said the mage, offended. "I-"

"Ah, yes, the events of the war." the doctor interrupted him, casually, "muddled and romanticized, but public knowledge regardless. Funny," yellowish eyes bore into his head in the same manner he generally employed on others, "but you appear a bit older than someone who was born just before the 'War of the Lance'."

"I..." Raistlin blinked, "I see what you are getting at, yes."

"And for now, at least, you have access to her doctor, her guardian, and her childhood friend. Between the three of us, and the fact that you are staying in the very same house that she grew up in, I would say that the 'history' game is quite strongly tipped in your favor," she very deliberately folded her arms, leaning against the table with the cadaver.

"If you want any information out of _me_ , mage, you had best start telling Akara things as well. I am not one for idly handing such things out. Not for free."

The archmage simply nodded. It gave him something to think about, at least.


	13. The History Game

**Originally written:**  
06.06.06

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_Come here!  
No I won't say please!  
One more look at the ghost,  
Before I'm gonna make it leave!_  
- Poe - Haunted

* * *

Raistlin found himself walking down a somewhat familiar hall, with no real recollection as to what he'd been doing or where he'd been going. The mage immediately came to a puzzled halt, looking around himself uncertainly. Where was he? This wasn't the Tower, and yet this was a hallway which bore the familiarity of something recently visited.

A door just a little ways ahead of him opened, light shining into the dim hall for a moment before the opening was shut again, soundlessly, behind a small figure. Purple and blue, layers of lace and silk and bead-work of fine quality had been crafted into a miniature dress for a miniature girl. A noble's child? Raistlin's eyes narrowed as the girl turned his way, small hands moving automatically to shove into pockets that weren't there.  
_  
The Krinir house,_ came the realization out of nowhere as the girl paused about ten feet away to stare him down. _But who is this?  
_  
"Hey, mister." said the girl in the too-fancy dress, "You look kinda lost."

"Do I?" something about this situation seemed... incredibly strange. But his instincts said to talk to the girl rather than continue on past her without a word as he might have another time. Those instincts had lead him down some strange paths in the past, but it was rare that they pushed him in the wrong direction to take.

"You looking for someone?" the girl fidgeted a bit, raising and then dropping her arms as though she would have crossed them, but recalled that she'd been shoved into fancy clothes and knew it would look ridiculous. Thin-fingered hands that could have belonged to a future spell-caster or surgeon played with a bit of the bead-work as though needing to stay busy at all times.

"Yes," Raistlin was already growing tired of this exchange, however. Tired of the girl staring at him, tired of the awkward almost-conversation, tired of the way this whole situation made the backs of his eyelids _itch_... "Do you know where Akara Krinir is?"

"Oh, you're here for _that,_" the little girl huffed, then pointed down the way he'd come from, "their party's that way."

"Their party?"

"Yeah. It ain't _my_party, that's for sure."

Realization dawned. He took in the black hair; longer than he knew it even on this small form, and pulled up into fancy loops. Bruised elbows, nimble fingers, the constant urge to fidget... green eyes so dark that in this poor lighting that they looked brown. Raistlin didn't spare the effort to be surprised, and instead glanced behind him. He found what he was looking for, and beckoned the girl to follow him as he approached a stone bench directly beneath a narrow window.

"Come sit with me, we shall talk for a bit," said the archmage, sitting down and gesturing to the rest of the seat. The girl, who had followed him as though physically tethered, eyed it speculatively.

"Nah," said the child after a moment's deliberation, "it'd screw up this stupid dress, probably," she again fussed with her hands, as though not sure where to put them with the absence of pockets.

"I shall fix it, if it does," the mage promised quickly, not at all sure how he'd do such a thing, but fairly certain he could figure out a way.

"Yeah?" she cocked her head to one side, eyeing Raistlin in much the same manner as she'd just been eyeing the bench. Some things, apparently, were the same in no matter where. Or when. This girl was always bold, and rarely ever hid the fact...

"Yes," Raistlin assured her, gesturing again before folding his hands calmly into his wide, black sleeves. His hood was down, but true to form his company didn't seem particularly bothered by his strange looks.

"Okay then..." young Akara said after a bit more thought, and then climbed onto the bench next to him. "But if you're fibbing, I'll kick you in the shins."

"I would expect nothing less," Raistlin said with a wry smile, "what is the party for?"

"My birthing day," said the girl, before snorting disdainfully, "what a joke, yeah? Eight years old and they stuff me in another ugly dress for their poly-ticks."

"Eight? That has to be... nice?" the mage wasn't certain where to go with this particular line, in fact he was practically floundering for something to say. He knew full well that neither of their childhoods had been 'nice' by any standard.

"How do you figure?" she tipped her head to one side, eyeing him skeptically.

"Well, the Krinirs are wealthy, aren't they?" Raistlin was grasping for straws, here, and he knew it. Akara had never been exactly... materialistic, he already knew that much as well. "I'm certain you get plenty of gifts."

"Gifts? Pah," Akara snorted again, kicking her dangling feet. The bench was too tall for the eight-year-old version of a girl who would never be very large. "Dresses and shoes and things to go in my hair, all of which I'll be required to wear at some point, you know."

"You're very cynical for an eight year old," he was almost impressed.

"Yeah, I try," said the future thief, not missing a beat.

"So... that's all they give you? Dresses and shoes and things to go in your hair?" Many girls from Solace would have enjoyed that, probably, but Raistlin knew his thief better than to think she was the same as the typical girl.

"Pretty much. Weaponsmaster Alley gave me a knife once, but when Father found out through the servants he took it away. He was pretty pissed," she watched her swinging feet; small, impractical shoes buckled onto them that the Akara who Raistlin knew would never touch with a ten foot pole. The younger version seemed to already be contemplating the footwear's untimely demise. "And Doctor Jones gave me a book once on an-ato-my and that ticked him off even more..."

"They don't wish for you to study anatomy?" Raistlin asked, blinking. He watched the girl frown at her skirts, smoothing a wrinkle. The mage was starting to understand why the clearly-wealthy thief dressed so plainly.

"They don't want me _readin',_" Akara said, carefully not looking at him. That gave him pause, but the girl continued without prompt, her small voice bitter far beyond her years, "I'm not a mage, ya know? And I'm a girl on top of that, so when I turn twelve I'll be married off to somebody... hopefully not some creepy old guy... and if I'm 'any good' then I'll 'make' a mage f-for my n-new family..."

Raistlin stared at her. The younger version of the brash, fiercely independent thief he would know later in her life wiped at the backs of her eyes with one embroidered sleeve. Quickly and without thinking about it, the mage produced a clean cloth from an inner pocket of his robes and held it out to her, under her bowed head.

She took it from him just in time for the first sniffle, but didn't burst into hysterics like he would almost expect. There was a long, silent pause, and the girl visibly pulled herself together under his puzzled stare.

"Thanks, mister," the young Akara said, sliding off the bench and holding out the unused cloth. He took it back, mutely. "I really shouldn't have said anything to you. You won't tell them I did, will you?"

"No, Akara," said the mage, his voice soft, subdued. "I promise I won't tell them anything."

"You're very nice," she said, bluntly. "And not old, either, even though your hair's white like an old guy's."

Raistlin shrugged faintly, and was surprised when his hand was captured between two smaller ones and pulled closer for examination. The archmage watched, bemused, as his hand was turned this way and that, and Akara poked at his palm several times before releasing him and shifting her curious stare to his face.

"And you're pretty, too," Akara announced in a manner that only children can generally pull off. "What's your name?"

"Raistlin Majere," he said, and then added, "You are not frightened of me?"

"Why would I be?" the girl blinked, and Raistlin plucked meaningfully at one of his sleeves. "Oh, because you're a black-robed mage? Nah, I deal with mages all the time, you know. Mages, and mages' kids, and mages' pets, and mages' cousins, and..." she paused in thought, "Well, lots of mages anyway."

"Even black-robes?" Raistlin's current chosen branch of magic had never been a trusted one, even before the war, and probably for very good reason.

"Sure, why not?" Akara blinked at him, then gestured toward the party down the hall, "I bet you there's a bunch of black-robes in there right now. But-"

"Akara!" somebody yelled from down the hall and out of sight, "Get in here!"

"Ack!" the future thief jumped, then winced and smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her skirt, "I've gotta go... I hope we meet again someday, mister Majere." Akara sketched a small, somewhat hurried curtsy, and then she rushed off in an almost-run before he could say anything in reply.

Raistlin watched her go, and then he woke up.

* * *

These had to be vallenwoods. Akara craned her neck, staring up and up and up into giant branches and countless leaves. The trees were even bigger than she'd imagined from hearing people talk! And up there, filtered sunlight glinted off the well-worn boards of a walk-way, about as high up as the top of the dark Tower, if she was any judge... and coincidentally, she was.

Someone coughed nearby, and she turned her attention to a small form sitting against the base of one of the trees, hidden in the shade and between two roots. The coughing was muffled, as though whoever it was didn't want to be found. Naturally, that just made the master thief curious, and she proceeded to head idly in that direction.

The young boy glared at her when she drew near, pale blue eyes flashing with annoyance. Whoever he was hiding from... and Akara knew hiding when she saw it, certainly, the boy probably thought that Akara would give his presence away. Of course, she was way too good at this game for that, and she climbed up onto one of the surrounding roots - taller than she was! - and sat down as though just resting her feet. As though she'd actually traveled here and not just... appeared, or whatever. Hmm.

"Good spot you've got here," Akara said to the branches far above her, her voice not pitched to carry far at all. The back of her head rested against the trunk's thick bark, and she squirmed a bit upon finding out that this spot was particularly good for back-scratching. See? Idle traveler... mmm, back-scratching.

"Pardon?" the boy replied, voice likewise pitched quietly. He was somewhere near ten or twelve, maybe... Akara wasn't near as good of a judge at age as she was at distance, certainly. There was some loud laughter from the other side of the trunk, and she wondered if that was who he was hiding from. The thief could only pick up a few words from whatever had been the punch-line, something about sly... something? Eh, whatever.

"I said, nice spot you've got here. A bit on the chilly side in the shade, though," Plus the boy was trying to read a book... no, not really the ideal spot unless you were trying to hide. Why was he on the ground, anyway, instead of up in the branches? There were walkways and houses up there, she could see them.

"Thank you...?" he sounded perplexed, and Akara laughed quietly.

"Don't worry kid; I confuse everyone," That was certainly true enough, and the thief grinned up at the branches of the giant tree. She _liked_ these trees, and she hadn't even been up in the branches yet. How she'd gotten here or why she _was_here wasn't even on her mind; Akara didn't operate by worrying about that kind of thing. Just like she didn't dwell on her past unless she had no choice. "So, how come you're down here?"

"Why should I tell you?" he snapped, and Akara turned her head a bit to glance down at the boy, who was staring fixedly down at his book even though he clearly wasn't reading. Long-ish auburn hair concealed his face right now, bowed as his head was, and he wore a set of plain white robes. The kid was way too young to be a Tested mage, so he had to be a student, which was something the thief knew only a little about. Just enough to recognize the fact, perhaps.

"I don't know... why shouldn't you?" Akara countered easily enough, and was gifted with a flash of large, icy blue eyes. He was kind of familiar, wasn't he?

"You're a stranger," the student mage pointed out, as though this would win the argument all by itself.

"There are few stranger than me," she agreed, twisting his words with a roguish grin. Akara dropped the expression when she continued, however, in a more serious tone, "But you're hiding from someone, and I'm betting they're not a stranger, so the way I see it I'm already a few points ahead of the locals. Again, why shouldn't you?"

"You could be helping them," he said, shutting his book and tucking it away in a bag with a wide shoulder strap. It was obvious that the future mage had given up on trying to read, although whether that was from the poor lighting or Akara's pestering, one couldn't tell offhand. Maybe both?

"If I was, I could have already given you away," Akara pointed out easily enough, "So obviously I'm not." Them, hmm? Interesting... so the boy was hiding from a group.

"I'm... hiding," the student admitted after a moment, thin cheeks coloring slightly. It was obvious that he didn't like hiding in the shadows like some frightened dog, but had been driven to it anyway.

"I know," said the thief, tipping her head to one side and watching him tense when another wave of laughter reached them from around the tree-trunk. "Ahh..." comprehension dawned. "They're blocking the stairs. Waiting for you?"

A silent nod, and the pale, piercing eyes lowered.

"My brother is working late today, and he was foolish enough to publicly announce as much," replied the boy, eyes still downcast as though ashamed to admit as much. Ah. So the student's brother being here would have meant them not harassing this boy? And he was oblivious enough to... hmm.

"I could scare them off for you...?" Akara offered, but quickly discarded the idea when vivid blue eyes locked on her in another glare. He was young, definitely no older than thirteen or so, but acted much older than that. Mature for his years, but alone and small regardless. "Right, probably a bad idea." she amended. "I take it they're blocking all the nearby staircases? And... what, you were waiting to see if they gave up?"

She was answered with a faint, almost imperceptible nod.

"And if you trek halfway across town to go up, they'll just meet you on the paths between trees anyway, right? Hmm." Akara thought for a moment, then grinned down at him. "Feel like being sneaky?"

Blink, blink. The boy drew in a sharp breath, his expression suddenly vastly annoyed as though she'd just poked fun at him after all, but he was cut off from retorting by another burst of laughter from around the trunk. This time she _did_pick out a few words, and Akara felt her expression darken. The sly one? If they were talking about this kid... no wonder her wording had struck a sore spot.

"I'm a thief," she said, and continued before his sudden alarm could truly set in, "No, not a bandit; just a thief... a city thief. The kind who breaks into rich folks' houses for shits and giggles. I could sneak you up onto the walkways pretty easily if you can hang onto me long enough for me to climb up. That's what I meant." Akara had her rope and hook around her waist as always, and she already knew she had enough line to snag the bridge above.

"Why would you?" he asked, after a long and thoughtful pause.

"How often do I get an excuse to sneak around without breaking a dozen laws?" Akara countered, with a grin. "I enjoy it, even though this would just be a literally straight shot upwards... it gets boring to just do things that way just for the sake of it." All of which was actually quite true. It got pointless rather fast when one didn't have an actual excuse.

"...All right," the boy conceded, grudgingly, although it was obvious he wouldn't have had there been any other option than hiding for who knew how much longer. He climbed to his feet and pulling his bag on over his head so that the strap would be secure. Why he wasn't particularly worried about hanging onto a stranger while said stranger scaled up a few hundred feet of rope wasn't really on Akara's mind. It seemed perfectly normal to _her_... she jumped down from the root, landing next to him in the hiding spot.

"Where's your house from here? Altitude aside, that is," Akara let the rope drop, coiled neatly around her boots, before stepping out of the loop and picking it up. Almost all her life, she'd been a thief to one degree or another, and she made it look damn easy by now.

"That tree," he pointed at one tree over, and Akara nodded before swinging her hook expertly in the narrow space, not hitting either of them or the roots, and released it to whir high overhead and catch on the walkway. She tested the grip it had on the boards, and found it solid. "Impressive," said the boy.

"Yeah, see? I get to show off, too, I don't get many opportunities for that," she grinned, before turning her back and crouching a bit to be a little lower than his level. "Just try not to strangle me and we'll be fine, I'm a very quick climber."


	14. Puns and Needles

**Originally written:**  
07.03.2006

**Revised:**  
06.17.2012

**Reviews/comments/feedback are always loved and adored!**

_Come here!  
I've got the pieces here!  
Time to gather up the splinters,  
Build a casket for my tears!_  
- Poe - Haunted

* * *

Most of Akara's talents fell within the scope of 'master thief', which a lot of people didn't give much thought to, but it was a very wide field. There was a lot involved in being a cat-burglar of such skill to have built a guild in Krontis. Not to mention a formidable reputation in both the mage city of no return, and the shining city of Palanthas as well.

Her usual raiding gear, during her time as a thief of Krontis, had left the black rabbit tattoo on her shoulder-blade exposed. Word had gotten out quickly that this was her call-sign. But in truth, Akara had done it mostly to let her dear parents know exactly who was robbing the other nobles of the city blind on a regular basis. Hence the barrier around the Krinir grounds, active to the very day she had arrived in broad daylight with the archmage Raistlin Majere.

She had often taunted guards, much as in Palanthas. Outrunning and outwitting them regularly, and almost always with that bit of ink showing against a small patch of pale skin. The mask, tied with its scarf's dangling ends placed much like ears, had done the rest. Akara didn't wear black, but her tattoo did, and thus the alias of the Black Rabbit had been created.

In Palanthas her tattoo had rarely been flaunted in such a manner... what without the Krinirs to silently mock, and all. But the name had followed her anyway... perhaps from the mask, or perhaps from a fellow Krontis escapee who had dropped the name and watched it stick. Her reputation had slowly ambled its way over to the shining city, or perhaps it had just built anew.

Regardless, the Black Rabbit had continued to exist, even while periodically harassing a certain deadly mage in _and_ out of his dark and foreboding Tower of High Sorcery. Between the added excitement of the biggest adrenalin rush she'd ever found before... twice a year, no less! and the fact that Akara was able to live in an actual building, Palanthas had been a real upgrade. She'd _liked_ it there, up until Raistlin Majere had reminded her that he knew where she lived... knew her name, and presumably could track her down anywhere in the city, maybe even anywhere in Krynn...

Akara found she liked Solace, too, and she'd not even been here long. However she'd even gotten here still wasn't on her mind, as she raised steadily up and up towards the walkway. Hand over hand without so much as a pause between, Akara wasn't climbing as fast as she normally might have, but she was keeping the pace steady. Which really wasn't bad, considering that she had a thirteen-year-old or so, plus his heavy books, hanging onto her.

Said boy was a bit too light for his height, she thought, but Akara wasn't about to complain. The thief was climbing fairly fast, even if not up to her usual standards, and the boy's grip didn't get much chance to weaken before she hauled them right up to the wooden planks. Akara anchored them with both of her feet tangled in the line, and then helped him with one arm-giving him support to safely climb off of her and up onto the walkway.

She then followed, slipping as easily under the rope railing as the kid's thin frame had. He was a bit flushed looking, as he then got to his feet, but he'd done pretty well. Akara grinned, already working on coiling her trusty line after disengaging the hook from the walkway. She'd use the stairs on the way down, and maybe accidentally trip over one of the kids blocking the path. Her plain-boots had hard toes that were excellent for 'tripping' over dumb people.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" said Akara, once her rope was back around her waist. "And I bet those idiots will be sitting there half the night, now, totally oblivious."

"That went surprisingly well," admitted the boy, inclining his head, "I thank you for your assistance, lady thief."

"Bah, think nothing of it," her arms were a bit sore from his extra weight, as she wasn't exactly built for brute force, but hey... she'd gotten the job done! "Tell your brother he's an idiot for me, okay?" Akara added with a smirk, before turning to head off in the direction opposite to the tree the kid had pointed out as having his house in it. She casually waved goodbye over her shoulder, figuring the kid wouldn't want her sticking around now. Thief cooties.

Said kid, however, hesitated for a moment as though in thought, before following her. Akara, who was rarely not aware of the things going on around her - indeed, a master thief often seemed to have eyes in the back of their heads like teachers and parents alike - paused. She turned, raising an eyebrow.

"I... I would just like to know your name, at least," said the boy perhaps a touch shyly, as he also came to a halt.

"Oh," the thief blinked. She wasn't used to giving her name; most people didn't ask, and so she hadn't really thought to introduce herself. "It's Akara... Akara Krinir."

"My name is Raistlin," said the boy, who immediately noticed her surprise at the name, but continued anyway although his expression showed puzzlement. "Raistlin Majere. Is something the matter, lady Krinir?"

"Uh... no... nothing's the matter..." Akara gaped at the younger and differently-colored version of those same features she had drawn so many times over the years. It was so _obvious_ , now! But... how was this possible?

"You seem distressed," the young Raistlin said. "Come inside for a bit, and I will make you some tea."

"I'm fine, really I am," she half-protested, but allowed the future archmage to lead her wherever. This was really unbelievable, Akara decided. Teleporting to Solace at random would have been strange enough on its own, but she was in a different _decade_ as well? How...

"Why does my name bother you?" the boy with the blue - and such a vivid blue! - eyes asked, pausing on the bridge. Akara stared for a moment, thinking fast.

"I know another Raistlin, that's all," she said honestly enough. The kid version of the Raistlin she knew blinked at her, faintly puzzled, and so she continued; "It's not an unheard of name, sure, but not that common either..."

"I see," Raistlin said, and Akara was relieved to think that no, no he didn't. But even at this age, the legend-to-be was startlingly perceptive. "He is very important to you, isn't he?"

"He's _the_ most important person, to me," she answered quietly without giving it much thought first. And then Akara considered, belatedly. Did this count as yet another odd little confession, albeit an indirect one? Gods, she hoped not... the thief was awfully sick of doing those. Nothing could come of it anyway, so why did she keep ending up telling Raistlin exactly what she thought of him? Old habits from the days of the 'beautiful' notes?

"That other Raistlin is very fortunate," said the younger, auburn-haired version, politely.

"Eh, I don't know about that," Akara replied, as they continued across the bridge. "He's got this... gutter-rat thief in his fan club, you know? I'm surprised I don't just embarrass him all the time," she chewed on her bottom lip, "Anyway, enough of that. You're studying to become a mage?" As if she didn't know already.

"That's right," Raistlin seemed fine with letting the subject slide away, at least, in favor of discussing magic. "I'm going to become a very powerful mage, someday... I am sure of it."

"You strike me as very dedicated," said the thief, "having a book propped open even while sitting in the shade... dedication gets people farther than a lot of things. I'm sure you'll do well."

Raistlin listened to this and a small smile graced his too-young features.

"The same could be said for you, lady thief. I doubt you embarrass anyone with half of a brain; and if that other Raistlin is too idiotic to know it... well," he glanced sidelong at her, "then he doesn't deserve you."

"Old words, coming from a kid," Akara snorted, taking that immediate defense.

"I suppose it is because I observe everything that I can, and I see many things that others do not," Raistlin was far from offended at her tactic; instead it sounded like he was merely lecturing her about herbs. "It is a habit that I believe a mage, or mage to-be, should definitely be in."

"I suppose that's true... but it still doesn't mean that you know everything," the thief wasn't shaken out of her using the age card in this situation. She already knew Raistlin was naturally analytical, and it didn't surprise her at all that he'd apparently always been that way. Besides, usually he was older than her, so how often would Akara get the chance to use that excuse?

"No, but I am learning," young Raistlin said, tone thoughtful. They came to a small and somewhat worn-down house, and the future archmage paused with his hand against the nondescript door. Akara took the moment to notice suddenly that it was summer... hot mid-summer; which she'd noticed before, of course, but since it had been winter in Krontis...  
_  
Right, time travel._ Pesky stuff, wasn't it? Meanwhile, the student mage had taken the same moment to steel himself against something - Akara likely wouldn't have even noticed if she hadn't already known Raistlin himself so well - before he pushed the door open. He lead the way inside, and the cat-burglar found herself looking at two women, seated at the table with sewing things strewn over the wooden surface. They looked up at the opening of the door.

"Mother, widow Judith," said the future black-robe, his tone carefully polite, "this is Akara Krinir. I invited her in for tea."

_Holy crap, _ Akara thought, _I'm meeting Raistlin's _ mother _.  
_

The thief half-woke, slowly coming to a state of semi-consciousness. She was _comfortable_ , half-slumped over something as warm as a sun-baked rock, but not nearly as harsh to cuddle against. Akara buried her face against it and took a deep breath, preparing to wake up the rest of the way, before relaxing further instead. It even _smelled_ good, like cloves and... hmm... sage... and... and... she nuzzled into thick, so-soft velvet, as content as a cat in the sun.

Akara was more than halfway asleep again when an arm settled lightly over her back.  
_  
That_ woke her up in a hurry, and she tensed, eyes snapping open as she pushed herself up onto her hands. A bleary-eyed Raistlin stared back at her, but he looked more sleepy than surprised. Akara opened her mouth, then closed it again soundlessly, dumbfounded. Looking around, she found that they were in her borrowed room of all places, and that was around when Raistlin started to _laugh_ .

" _What_ is so funny!" demanded Akara, knocked out of her silence by the sound, "And why in the _abyss_ are you in here?"

"I had strange a dream," said the archmage, once his brief mirth at her expression had passed. "In which I met a younger you. I came to see if you were experiencing the same. When I moved to wake you, you pulled me down and..." Raistlin trailed off meaningfully. They were both fully clothed, but it was obvious Akara had made herself right at home with the mage's person.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" she stammered.

"Who am I to object to being pulled into a young lady's bed?" Raistlin arched an eyebrow. Akara blinked, then looked around them.

"I wouldn't really call this a bed," she said flatly. And indeed, as it was too cold to sleep on the windowsill any longer, the thief had made a makeshift pallet beneath it from folded blankets and a few thick pillows. Akara had a serious, unexplained aversion to sleeping in the correct furniture, apparently.

"Still," replied Raistlin, "what did you dream?" It was almost dejavu to have him ask that, but his tone was much softer, and the situation was much, much different. Akara stared for a moment before shaking it off.

"You first," she said stubbornly, and moved to get up. Ah, but true to form Raistlin pulled her down instead of letting her get away, back to where she had been upon awakening. She snorted, and then yawned against his chest almost threateningly, as though she would ignore him and go back to sleep again.

"Very well," he complied, "it was your eighth birthing day. I encountered you in the hall as you came out of what was presumably your bedroom. We talked on a bench, you told me of your family's intentions to marry you off as soon as you turned twelve; and that you weren't supposed to learn to read." Raistlin sounded as though he was offended on her behalf on both points. "You were then summoned, you left, and I woke."

"I was in Solace, in the summer," Akara felt the mage take in a sharp breath, but she continued without prompt. "You were thirteen, or maybe fourteen. I didn't even know it was you until I helped sneak you up onto one of those bridges with my grappling hook... there were a bunch of kids blocking the stairs waiting for you. You introduced yourself and then pretty much led me right into your house for tea while I was still recovering from my surprise." she chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment, thinking. "I met your mother and-"

"The widow Judith," he sounded resigned.

"Yes. It was just her and your mother when we walked in, they were sewing. Your mother tried to get me to help, and Judith was... less than impressed when I said I barely knew how to use a needle." she fidgeted, playing with part of his sleeve. It was _strange_ being this close, even though she had been just as close to him any number of times, it had always been under more bizarre circumstances than this one. This felt... pretty casual in comparison. No one had been shot, or stabbed, or poisoned, or made dangerously sick...

"I bet that she was," Raistlin sighed, "and what did you think of Judith?"

"She was... a bit off, wasn't she?" Akara replied. "I mean, I can't tell exactly how, she was perfectly _polite_ , certainly, but she definitely didn't like either of us and I can't say that I liked her, either..."

"You wouldn't," he sounded oddly approving.

"How is any of this possible?" the thief asked, "I mean, your dream sounds pretty accurate, other than the fact that I would have never just _said_ any of that to a stranger..."

"I have no idea," replied Raistlin, "yours sounds accurate as well, aside from the fact that I would have never allowed a stranger to carry me up a rope. This is obviously something different than mere coincidence or true time-travel."

"Bizarre," Akara said at length, and was quiet for a moment before continuing in a small, oddly timid voice, "What... what happened?"

"I told you, I don't-" she tensed, and he paused abruptly, likely feeling that tenseness easily. "You don't mean what caused this."

"No, I... you don't have to tell me," the thief said in that quiet voice, feeling like shit for even asking. Akara _knew_ his past was bad, even worse than hers, even if she didn't know the specifics. Going through the war itself as such an eventually-key figure was bad enough, but there were rumors about before that. Before his Test had turned him gold and white. Tiny rumors that she'd have never heard had she not been listening for such things so avidly for as long as she had...

Raistlin took a deep breath, and Akara considered trying again to pull away, wondering if he was angry, or worse - saddened. Sometimes his moods were difficult for her to predict, and the very last thing she wanted to do was turn the archmage melancholy over such a clumsy question. But he let it out in a long sigh, and tightened his grip on her momentarily.

"What do you know of the incident in Haven?" he asked, calmly. "The one just before my Test, with the followers of the fake god Belzor?"

"I know they damn near burned you alive..." Akara wondered what that had to do with anything, and then remembered Judith speaking of Belzor with a sudden, freezing sensation in the pit of her stomach, despite the warmth she was laying against. "The widow was one of them, wasn't she." It wasn't a question.

"She was the high priestess I supposedly murdered with a knife..."


	15. Interlude

Just trying to get back into writing the only way I can seem to, by tossing out something short. Very, very short unfortunately. My apologies to those expecting a full chapter when they get the notifications...

* * *

"Ow! Majere!" Akara's voice could be clearly heard in the hall outside of her room. "Why are you so damn heavy anyway - you're all skin and bones!"

Raistlin's soft murmuring voice in reply could not be heard nearly so easily, and Alleyana Ashkeveron wasn't the sort to deliberately eavesdrop without a reason. She re-folded her arms, and switched which ankle crossed the other where she stood leaning against the wall outside of the room. The Weaponsmaster was on Raistlin-duty, but with the two being in the same room, she and Tannusen were taking turns on the roof.

And since Tannu's joints creaked a whole lot less than hers did, these days, he got to go first.

Age had its benefits.

"Not like that, you jerk! What do you think I am, a stack of books?"

Of course, the hall had its down-sides, too. Alley shook her head.


	16. Truths and Lies

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 12.17.2009:

It's been... a while now. I hope I haven't gotten too rusty. ^^;; Review-replies will be going up on my site, the url is given at the bottom of the chapter and in my user info!

Sorry for the very, very, very long wait; this story's plot has dug its claws into my head again finally, and some of my creativity is trickling back. Let's hope it stays! This isn't a terribly long chapter, but I like to think it makes up for it a little in Stuff Happening. Hope you guys like it!

_So I came home to feel ugly again  
Feels better alone, pretty ugly again  
If you come back around I may not let you in  
Cause I don't understand what this pretty is...  
-- Kidneythieves - Pretty_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
**TAF: Face to Face**  
Truths and Lies

It was a large, wooden-floored room; the boards worn and smooth. There was a small brick hearth and fireplace at one end, and the room itself was largely out of the way of the rest of the house. In short, it was perfect for teaching things in, and it had served this purpose hundreds of times before... Akara wasn't even particularly surprised to see that it had been kept clean and stocked with firewood.

Who _would_ really be surprised, with the household's own Weaponsmaster trailing along silently behind you? The thief glanced over her shoulder at the scar-faced woman, who didn't so much as blink at her -- like the room's state could have been _anyone_ else's doing -- and then shook her head and went inside, only one of her two 'shadows' accompanying her.

"_Fuck_, it's cold," Akara puffed out as they shut the door behind themselves, the words hanging visible in the air as a little cloud of heat. There was a soft chuckle beside her, and then heavy warm velvet suddenly draped around her shoulders.

"Perhaps," Raistlin murmured, "if you dressed for the season..."

"Then what would I have to bitch about?" the thief asked, although she didn't complain about _that_, choosing instead to pull the cloak closer around herself and then pausing abruptly -- finally taken by surprise again! -- as Majere closed in and long, clever fingers pulled her hair free of the heavy fabric and then moved to close the clasp at her throat. "You just like making me jump," Akara grumbled, looking off to one side and holding still.

She didn't have to see his smirk to know it was there.

"...!" As soon as he was done, Akara stepped back and went for the fireplace, crouching down and busying herself with lighting a fire up. _Yep, really intense stuff, this fireplace lighting... gotta keep your eye on the logs (instead of the blackrobe standing right behind you) and gotta stare at them until one of the sparks actually catches the ti**--!**_ "Ah-shit!" Akara yelped as a single whispered word from Raistlin set the logs on fire, the thief falling back onto her rear in surprise. "Don't _do_ that without warning me first!"

Majere loomed over her, bending to offer a slender, glimmering hand up. Just to show him how cool under pressure she could be, Akara took it and hauled herself up, surprised briefly that the Archmage didn't fall over as she did so. He really was stronger than he looked! ...And he didn't immediately let go of her hand. Instead, it raised, changed position, and his other settled at her hip.

"Like this?" he asked.

"W-what?" Akara stared at their hands, then looked at him. As she'd noticed before, firelight made his golden skin look molten, entrancing... she was a little distracted by this, especially when she caught his eyes and the hourglasses looked like live sparks...

One white eyebrow arched upwards, slightly, as did the corner of thin lips. "...Dancing lessons, I thought?" Raistlin asked after a pause, clearly amused all over again at her plight.

"Dancing... oh. _Oh_. Right! I knew that." Sure she did! Akara blinked, and used her free hand to reposition the one on her hip. "Okay, so, this'll just be the most basic one today, but it's the kind they like to play the most around here," she said, and looked down at their feet. "So, um, you... you're not wearing your normal stuff!" Under the outer cloak she was currently wearing, he normally wore his long, split-skirt robes and trousers and boots. She knew that much from traveling with him and -- let's be honest here -- spying on him so much over the years of sneaking into his Tower to leave him little presents. But now he wore a simple black tunic instead of the robe, previously hidden under the closed cloak.

"You are very observant today," the archmage noted with a raspy little half-laugh.

"You have _legs_!" Akara added, staring at them. "And... stuff!" It was unspeakably weird, to see someone in long enveloping layers for so long and never anything but, and then suddenly there they are in pants and shirt like a normal non-magus... the one incident when she'd dried his hair had been expected, and awkward, but this--!

"Indeed," his voice was colored thickly with amusement, "sometimes I even walk with them."

"N-no shit?"Akara managed to yank her eyes upwards -- he had a waist, too! Much skinnier than she usually saw it, enveloped in layers and spell components -- "Here I thought you just floated along, fueled by pure evil bastard-ness..." she trailed off, staring at slender shoulders beneath plain black linen, his white hair in stark contrast. The thick velvet often helped hide his frailty, too, but here his collar bones stood prominently beneath the cloth and the thief lifted her free hand to trace one sharp bone with her fingertips, tugging at the collar to loosen it before she even realized what she was doing, that part of her that drove her to draw the man over and over during the years suddenly rearing up in her head, insatiable curiosity flaring...

Raistlin, she would realize later, reacted only by holding his breath and standing very, very still. When she looked up further she found his eyes were gently closed -- and then she realized what she had been doing and froze, fingertips against his too-warm skin.

The mage slowly re-opened his eyes. Akara stared, a stammered apology freezing on her lips at the blazing heat found in those hourglasses. _He really can hypnotize with those,_ she thought numbly, _just like I thought when I first saw him..._ Not that the knowledge helped her now.

"Sh...shit."

It was her own voice, sounding too harsh and too alien for such an intimate moment, that snapped her out of it, and she dropped her hand -- and her gaze -- and felt her face burning in the comparatively cold air... although her hands were warm, and so was the small of her back where she'd placed his other hand. She reached to remove it, now, and yelped when she was pulled in close to Raistlin instead. Heat, heat, heat, he was like a _furnace_ and it was so easy to feel slender ropy muscle and fragile bone and -- he just kept her there, and set his chin on her shoulder, and swayed gently from side to side.

"...The fuck are you doing?" she finally managed, after a long, shivering moment of this.

"Are we no closer now, Akara?" Raistlin asked near her ear, sounding melancholy, "I told you of when I was almost burned to death at the stake, of Judith and my Mother... we both saw each other in our dreams... here I am in your home, courting you..."

"Pretending to," Akara corrected almost numbly.

"Mayhap," Raistlin murmured even quieter, "...mayhap not." Akara stood bolt still, tense, as too-warm lips pressed to the side of her neck. It would be so easy to let that heat in, to buckle against him, to... to... her fingers twitched, one hand still caught loosely in his... visions of fire-lit golden skin flashing behind her eyes...

Akara jerked away from him, fast enough and viciously enough to actually manage, for once, to get out of his grip. She bolted for the door, yanked it open, and burst past a startled Alleyana on guard outside, her footsteps loud to her own ears as she charged down the hall.

No one followed.

The thief sprinted straight past the room she was staying in and down a set of worn stairs, out a side-door... and she kept running, Raistlin's warm velvet cloak still wrapped around her shoulders even as she scaled the wall around the grounds, and vanished into the dark city of Krontis.

Far, far behind her, Raistlin Majere crumpled to the floor, knees cracking hard against the boards and a peculiar noise wrenching from his throat.

* * *

Akara kept running until her own lungs burned from exertion and cold, and ran further still, until she came to a particular tree at the edge of a dimly-lit, rarely-traveled old courtyard between closed down buildings. She leaned against the bark and shivered in the cloak, watching her breath make clouds through blurring vision. A swipe at her face ended in her inhaling the scent on the velvet... cloves and rose petals and the very faintest hint of decay, and other herbs she couldn't even hope to identify.

Leaving the snow on the ground behind, the thief climbed up the tree to a well-worn branch, brushing the snow off it with her hands and settling against the trunk, huddling up in the thick velvet and staring out at the night.

Not far from here was the entrance to the Mockers' hideout. Her old group of thieves and throw-aways... her old life before she'd met the old man called Fizban, before she'd set eyes on the dark tower standing defiant in the middle of shining Palanthas. It had been winter then, too. Her life had become more colorful, sharp and contrasted, with that huge rush to look forward to twice a year...

Before then, she'd wandered, angry and adrift, looking for any thrill she could find to stave off the rest of life. Life had been better after the Tower, and before she'd had to reveal herself to its master to save him. There would be no recapturing that, would there? She'd never gone back, not since that moment in the rain when he'd let her go. It wasn't like she'd had the means to do so in stealth anyway, without the protection of those amulets to hide her from his servants.

Raistlin Majere was her rush and always had been, but she wasn't Magi; wasn't _magic_. She knew him well enough to know that it was magic that fueled him, above all else, just as fear seemed to fuel her.

Akara leaned the side of her face against the cold bark of her tree, feeling the winter chill creep in through the cloak. Maybe she'd just stay here where it was quiet until one of her old acquaintances wandered by. But would they still want her with them? It had been years since she'd vanished from Krontis and left the Mockers to their own devices without even a word...

Footsteps crunched lightly in the snow off to one side, but she didn't turn to look.

"Well, well, what a surprise," came the voice from the dark, the derisive sneer clearly audible. Even without looking, Akara knew that voice, and her fists clenched beneath Raistlin's cloak. The voice continued when she didn't immediately respond, "And hello to you too, my dear little stepdaughter..."

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
**Review-replies can be found at AroWrites dot Net  
**


	17. Tic Tac Toe

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 12.18.2009:

Something much-anticipated finally happens in this chapter (after HOW long?), although all will not be smooth sailing from here. There is still plot to go!

Review-replies are on the website, just go to the stories there as though to read them, but click on the "reviews" link instead. Thank you guys for all the notes and feedback!

_I'd rather be out in the summer rain  
Getting soaked yeah I wouldn't complain  
But I think too much and I'm left to blame  
Feeling strangely the same  
I'm drawing pictures around your name  
Conversation slowly sketched away  
With the words I could not say  
Couldn't find anyway  
-- Etro Anime - Summer Rain_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
**TAF: Face to Face**  
Tic Tac Toe

"What do you want?" Akara asked, still not bothering to look, staring off into the night with Raistlin's cloak providing less and less protection from the cold -- especially the cold from this _woman_. "I wasn't aware we were on speaking terms."

"Now, that's no way to greet me after all this time," even the woman's _voice_ sounded fake, condescending and sugary. Akara wasn't typically a violent girl, for all her other vices, but hearing this woman speak to her made her want to do terrible things to humanity. The footsteps grew closer.

"Y'know," Akara ground her teeth, "you being an evil sack of shit has never had to do with the color you wear. Making the rounds to all the inns and hotels again to terrify the keepers into not letting me under their roofs? How's that for a greeting?"

"I am not the one who originally kicked you out, you must realize," said the woman, who came to a stop beneath Akara's branch. If she swung her foot, she could almost kick her in the head... the thief finally looked down, taking in Victoria's elegantly-layered black silk and lace robes, her ever-so-carefully curled fake-red hair... The way Raistlin wore the same color made his look far more inviting. But then, he was sickly and could use the comfort of thick velvet and soft linen, whereas Victoria most definitely was _not_.

And _there_ was irony. Like Majere had _ever_ deserved a worse fate than this woman.

"My mother just wanted me to come back and marry some jerk and start spitting out mage babies," Akara sneered down at her, "she'd have given up on that eventually and stopped telling all the perverted old guys that I was dead. _You_, on the other hand..."

"I would have allowed you to stay in my house, under my rules," Victoria looked up at her from under half-lidded eyes, "at least then you could have been around your father... I'm sure he's missed you terribly over the years." And she reached one slender hand up, wrapping ice-cold fingers around Akara's booted ankle.

"You mean the gutless, brainless husk you've turned him into," Akara tried to pull her leg back, and found Victoria's grip could be just as bruising and unwavering as Majere's. "Let the fuck go!"

"An interesting cloak you have on, impudent little girl. Is that Raistlin's?" the woman asked, pulling steadily on Akara's leg until the thief had to grab the trunk of her tree to stay on. The thief took a swing, finally, with her other leg, but couldn't reach more than to brush some of that infuriatingly fake hair.

"If you pull me down into the snow, I swear I'll kick your teeth in!" Akara hissed, jerking back on her leg.

"Such a clumsy girl," Victoria crooned, and gave a sudden _yank_ on her ankle, Akara's limbs flailing as she lost her grip on the tree-trunk and came crashing down into the very, very cold snow. She sputtered, clawing her way out of the face full of icy winter and scrambling to her feet, fists clenched.

"I swear--" But she was cut off, the black-robed woman's fingertips were glowing softly from a spell ready to be fired. "Oh, charming, self-fucking-defense huh? And people wonder why I rob mages blind at every opportunity!"

"Even Raistlin?" the woman asked with a triumphant little smirk, "I wonder if he knows how much you loathe our magic..."

"Just the way _you_ use it!" Akara turned to stalk away, shivering violently from the cold and from her rage, and stopped in her tracks as Raistlin himself came around the corner, the glow from the Staff of Magius lighting his path.

"Akara?" he sounded just the slightest bit hesitant. _But who can blame him after I--_ her thoughts were cut off when she noticed his gaze settle on Victoria behind her, and his expression turned... peculiar. Flat. She'd never seen his eyes go so mirrored and unreadable before, though plenty of people had described them that way. Almost everyone she'd ever talked to about him, in fact...

But her rumination was interrupted when she noticed him shiver, though he'd at least paused to put on another cloak before coming out to find her. Still. "Majere! You're going to freeze out here!" Akara huffed as though nothing at all had happened, and stomped over to him, "You're crazy anyway, chasing me out into the snow with your health. Come on, I'll lead you back the fastest route." But when she reached to take his arm, he batted her hands away and straightened with his staff.

"I can walk without your assistance," he rasped, and then inclined his head toward... that woman. Akara paused, frowning faintly.

"Of course, she won't introduce us," Victoria all but purred as she came closer, the chill from her making Akara feel even colder. It was in her head, she knew, but that was how much she loathed the woman. "Victoria Krinir, Akara's stepmother," and the woman had the audacity to hold out one hand toward Raistlin.

Akara tried not to feel too betrayed when he took it and bowed low over it.

"Raistlin Majere," he rasped, and then straightened again and gestured back the way he'd come from, "Would you accompany us back to the house, Lady?" And then he offered _Victoria_ his arm, and Akara found she couldn't really help it anymore. She felt betrayed. That vile woman took it with a smile.

"Certainly," Victoria replied, and then arched an eyebrow, "My, but you're very warm, aren't you?"

"Who said I'm going back?" Akara demanded over the top of whatever Raistlin's reply was. Like she wanted to watch _this_. At least she hadn't given into temptation first... now that there was another big magus-type around...! She might look and sound childish, she reasoned, but at least _some_ things were damn well intact, even if her dignity had been dumped into the snow already.

"I thought you two were courting?" Victoria asked innocently enough, looking from Akara to Raistlin, "Lover's quarrel?"

"Your teeth," Akara pointed at her own mouth. "_Remember_ that."

And she turned to stalk off, making it halfway across the courtyard before Raistlin's voice stopped her. "Akara," he murmured, "come back now, so that I will not have to catch my death trying to track you down in the cold? And--" he paused as Akara sneezed, "--you have already become ill."

"Shut up," Akara grumbled, storming back over, "a little sneeze isn't ill." Crap. She was totally already getting sick. And the snow was coming down again, big thick flakes somehow getting down the neck of the borrowed cloak. She flicked the hood up over her head and folded her arms beneath the velvet, stalking past the other two and heading back towards the house. _That_ house.

The thief ground her teeth until they hurt, and picked up the pace so she wouldn't have to hear Raistlin and Victoria talking behind her. Mages. _I guess I should have warned him about her more than her daughters,_ she thought petulantly, _but it wouldn't have made a damn difference anyway!_ Victoria was beautiful enough to snag her grieving father, after all, and was a powerful magi -- a black robe, even! She probably even made a prettier corpse when he stared at her than Akara did.

She sneezed again, and grumbled to herself as she slipped in through the gate and up the path to the front door. At least this place had its uses, like hot water! Victoria's laugh at something Raistlin murmured made Akara hurry her way up the stairs to her current room, closing the door firmly behind her and moving to set up the tap. If she had to be here, she would get the benefits of it, damn it!

Once the smaller room with the tub was closed with her in it, she pulled Raistlin's cloak off and... paused, holding it in her hands, rubbing the fabric between her fingertips. She shouldn't be bothered by Majere being friendly with that woman... right? He was here under a lie to begin with...

_'Mayhap. Mayhap not.' What is that supposed to _mean_?!_ Akara thought, fuming. Her face heated at the memory of lips on her neck, and she buried her face in the cloak in her hands. Maybe he... _But that's not right! I have nothing to do with magic, except being good at getting around it. He can't actually..._ she tightened her grip on the cloak for a moment, then hung it up on the back of the door, smoothing it distractedly, _he's just toying with me. That's what Majere _does_, after all._

Right? Right!

Shoving the whole thing out of her mind for now -- and oh how she missed the days when she was better at doing that all the time! -- Akara slipped out of her freezing cold and snow-damp clothing and got into the big tub, hissing a little at the heat but sinking in to her chin anyway. The burn was better than frostbite, to be sure, and the temperature of the heated water was never very precise.

And she sneezed, sloshing water on the floor. "Crap," she grumbled. "He's never going to shut up if I'm sick. Like he can even talk! I'd still be..." Akara rubbed at her nose with one wet hand, "I'd still be happily sneaking into his place twice a year if he hadn't--! But nooo, he had to get pnuuu--pneu--pneumonia!" Sneeze! "Crap!"

The light knocking at the door was less than welcome. Akara sank down to her nose for a moment, eyeing the door over the side of the tub, before rising up enough to talk. "What?"

"I would like to speak with you," Raistlin's voice from the other side made Akara's eyes widen a little. She looked down through the very clear water at -- well -- herself. Not that he hadn't seen her naked before, but, she'd been poisoned and dying and shit!

"Speak through the door then," Akara said, and yelped as the door was pushed open, arms covering her chest and sitting up. "Hey! Get out!"

"Your dignity is safe, I will avert my eyes," the tall archmage closed the door behind himself, pausing to look at his own cloak there, hung safely out of the way of sloshing water, and then found the wooden stool he'd used before and brought it over. True to his word, he didn't look anywhere near her, staring off to one side and then sitting down facing away. It was very odd, to see him _not_ staring her down with those odd eyes of his. "Speaking to you through the door would... not be precisely private."

"It's not precisely private when you barge in on me like this ei--" Sneeze! "--either!" Akara spluttered, edging away in the porcelain tub. "Or dignified!"

"Perhaps you are correct," he didn't seem inclined to leave, of course, "but you leave me little recourse if I ever hope to resolve what... happened. You are very skilled," Raistlin's tone was quietly wry, "at running away from me."

"Yeah, well," Akara sank back down in the tub, arms still strategically placed just in case. "Lots of practice I guess."

"Perhaps I should time these things for when you are in the bath more often, then," said the archmage, "I can only imagine it would be rather difficult to run away from me just now..."

"Just talk about whatever you came here to talk about!" the thief snapped, her face burning. It was probably completely red!

"...Do you remember the first time you came to my Tower," Raistlin asked, taking her a bit by surprise, "over six years ago?"

"This is what you just _had_ to talk to me about in private? And right _now_?" Akara asked, finally relaxing enough to sling an arm over the edge of the tub. The injured one, in fact, which was finally healing properly with Raistlin's frequent check-ups. It certainly didn't seem any worse, now, than an accidental -- albeit deep -- knife cut... much better than a deep sword gouge with a dirty, poisoned blade. "...Fine," she added when he just sat quietly waiting, "yes, I remember. I remember all of them." Treasured nights in which she'd been the most alive...

"Did you know what you delivered, that first night?" the mage asked, and Akara shook her head before remembering that he wouldn't see it.

"...No, I was told not to look inside the box, so I didn't," Akara replied, remembering her conversation with the old man about it. "Something about 'stasis' or... something. To keep whatever safe while I... traveled," she blinked. The mage wasn't looking her way, but he'd reached one golden-skinned hand back and was trailing his fingertips in the hot water. That was oddly... well. Her face was never going to cool down! She was _naked_ in here!

"It was a black rabbit," Raistlin murmured, "rendered immune to my cursed vision..."

"Ah...?" Akara was admittedly distracted by his hand in the water. She blinked. "Immune? So, uh... what was it, immortal?"

"Not immortal," Majere shook his head, "the rabbit still aged, just... normally. She died of old age some years later."

"Oh..." she was really good with words suddenly, wasn't she? That hand traced whirls and odd patterns through the surface of the water, and Akara stared fixedly at it as it moved. "...sorry."

"There is nothing for you to be sorry for," Raistlin laughed very, very softly and briefly, his hand stilling for a moment. "Nothing at all. At first, I thought Paladine was just... referencing something my brother used to do when I was ill as a child. He would make shadow puppets on the wall -- of rabbits -- to cheer me up. But then... the last time you were in my Tower..."

"The Black Rabbit," Akara blinked, "my other name. Heh! That's pretty funny, right there, having me deliver a black rabbit to you."

"That is not..." Raistlin's hand lifted from the water, suddenly, and Akara was startled to find he'd turned to look at her, her eyes widening and a string of expletives forming on her lips -- and died unspoken when he cupped her chin in his wet hand, golden eyes fixed steadily only on her face. "Akara. The Black Rabbit is immune to my curse," he murmured, "just like the black rabbit was. The enchantment in your... tattoo... Paladine did to you what he did to that rabbit and then sent you _to_ me, knowing you could never resist a challenge. He left you with those medallions, knowing that you would continue until eventually caught..."

Akara felt her eyes widening as his meaning sank in. She wasn't stupid, just oblivious. There was a difference! "...You... don't see me rotting?"

In response, Raistlin smirked smugly at her plight, and his gaze dropped deliberately to the water... and beyond it... wandering searingly for a moment before raising back to her face, one gray-white eyebrow rising.

Akara stared back, her mouth opening and closing over and over silently, before she finally managed to get words out. "Don't fuck with me!" Why yes, she sounded shrill! Her arms clamped down over herself again and her face felt like it would melt right off the bones.

"...The world is a withering, rotting, desolate winter and all I can smell and taste is ash," Raistlin leaned closer despite the odd angle, his hand still holding her chin, his whisper locking her into place, her heart pounding, "and then there is _you_. And it was only _you_ who _ever_ called me those things, and it was _you_ who kept coming back year after year... never, ever repulsed! Not even when I was ill, helpless! I..."

"Don't say stuff like that!" Akara gasped, "I'm--"

She cut off abruptly, shocked into total silence at how strangely soft and warm his lips were against hers. Just a simple, almost chaste press, held there in utter hesitation. A ragged and pained-sounding gasp pulled through Raistlin's shattered lungs, though it was _Akara_ who was in danger of hyperventilating just now, her rapid breathing almost cold compared to the blazing heat of his skin. She felt a lot like a trapped rabbit, suddenly! He just stayed there, hovering, uncertain...

Reflexively, she went to lick her lips nervously, and licked his where they pressed close. Raistlin held still, golden eyes wide and shocked, and then his hands went to her shoulders and the stool clattered yet again to the floor as he climbed clumsily into the tub with her, water flooding over the edge. "Do that again..." he whispered, sounding oddly lost and young.

"Your spell components--" Akara tried to pull back, alarmed at his sudden climb into the water.

"I don't care!" Raistlin hissed, and licked _her_ lips, his hands going up to clutch the sides of her head, shaking slightly. Thick, heavy velvet flowing in the waves his movement made, brushing against her bare skin beneath the water, reminded her that she wore not a stitch, and she tried to shrink back further, splashing more water on the floor, even as that lick... hot and wet and _Raistlin_...

One of them groaned, the sound harsh in the small chamber. Akara couldn't tell who; didn't care who. She lunged up, wrapping her arms around his neck suddenly and pulling him down the rest of the way, sealing their mouths together clumsily in a hard, awkward press. Neither of them were sure what to do with this development, and it was Raistlin who had to pull back to breathe, his first coughing fit in nearly a week overtaking him where he crouched over her in the water, soaked heavy velvet tight around his ribcage, light-headed -- Akara loosened her hold on him, worried as his coughing grew more ragged, like it might snap him in two.

Biting her lip, which... tasted... different now, the thief undid the ties on his spell component belts and the clasps on Raistlin's second cloak of the night and pulled the whole thing off of him as his coughs continued to wrack his frame, one of his hands clasped over his mouth, his balance crouched over her legs clearly in jeopardy.

"Come on," Akara murmured, frowning, and started manhandling him further. Raistlin struggled for a moment, clearly disoriented, while she turned him around, but then relaxed back against her shoulder when the fits seemed to let up, too exhausted to protest. _I probably make a good back-rest anyway, all things considered,_ the thief thought, still too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Not that he was trying for that right now anyway, just laying there wheezing and shaking like a leaf in the warm water.

The urgency of the moment passed as his breathing calmed, leaving Akara to think on what had just happened. "Well, shit," she muttered, and let her head rest back against the edge of the tub.

"What?" Raistlin rasped, his voice shot from his coughing. He'd tensed up again, maybe expecting her to -- justifiably! -- freak out any minute now. But in all honesty, this wasn't the first time they'd gotten this close with her this unclothed. It was just the first time she'd been awake and uninjured. And her first kiss -- that realization hit home suddenly. The other time hadn't counted, had it? And even if it had, he'd _still_ been her first!

Although something else occurred to her, and she giggled weakly.

"...What?" Raistlin asked again, and he was definitely tensing up, twisting partially so he could look at her, his expression already closing up, ready for... for something she couldn't figure out. Did he think she would lash out at him, take back everything she'd ever said, shove him away and curse him? Spite him? Hate him? Akara watched him for a moment, then shook her head, the mirth instantly gone in light of his almost instantly-wounded reaction.

"It just occurred to me that if I _am_ sick..." she murmured, "well, you're just as silly as I am. K... ki... doing _that_ to someone who's been sneezing for an hour!" And she'd been worried she'd look like a fool for getting sick! Ha! He was a bigger fool if he got sick from -- uh -- from _that_!

Raistlin blinked at her, the glassy reflectiveness of his eyes cracking away and melting as easily as that, stark relief briefly visible. He relaxed back against her shoulder again, and an inaudible little chuckle shook his thin frame. "I suppose that I am," he murmured hoarsely in agreement, sounding far too mellow for someone who'd just about coughed up a lung. Although, really, he was probably used to that part by now...

"Yeah," Akara smirked, trying not to think about any of it too closely, and instead just relaxing in the moment, "you silly bastard." Their legs were in a tangle, and the thin linen of his tunic left his bony spine evident where it pressed back against her; Akara carefully tried not to think of what the mage felt through his shirt in return. She glanced at his face, still turned towards hers on her shoulder, his gray-white hair splayed across her arm and clinging wetly to the side of her neck, and found his half-lidded eyes glittering up at her with an odd, feverish heat.

"Majere..." she started, hesitant, and he shook his head.

"Just remember my words," Raistlin whispered hoarsely, "promise to remember them as the truth when I force you to doubt me..." When she didn't immediately respond, his breath caught as though a new coughing fit would overtake him, "--Promise!"

"I... okay, Majere," Akara's brow furrowed, but she couldn't look away. "I promise."

Raistlin stared at her assessingly for a moment, and then nodded, relaxing again as the threat of a coughing fit passed. His legs shifted against hers, causing Akara's cheeks to flare again. He was... he was seated between her legs, his bony hips against her thighs, almost at her knees with the angle he was sprawled at -- but still! -- she had ample reason to be embarrassed! She wanted... she wasn't sure what she wanted to do. _Something...!_ He'd never been so warm in her dreams, the heat coming off of him through his one layer of clothing made the hot water around them feel tepid. She wanted_...!_

And still, those half-lidded golden eyes stared, glittering, feverish... curious...

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
**Review-replies can be found at AroWrites dot Net**


	18. Collateral Damage

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 12.20.2009:

It's occurred to me that my style has shifted a _lot_ in the last few years while I wasn't writing fanfiction. Hopefully it's not _too_ jarring, and hopefully the characters still sound like themselves. I might go back and flesh out the older stuff once the fic is complete, but I'm not sure -- it really doesn't lend itself to being added to for the sake of being added to. Although some things _are_ inconsistent and will definitely get fixed up, eventually.

I've started including partial lyrics to songs that are on Akara/TAF's soundtrack, the entirety of which (which is always open to new song additions) will be going up on the website at some point with download/possibly youtube links for the interested.

Thanks again for all the feedback!

_I wouldn't know what to do with another chance, if you gave it to me  
I couldn't take the embrace of a real romance, it'd race right through me  
I'm much better off the way things are, are  
Much much better off  
Better by far, by far  
-- Fiona Apple - The Way Things Are_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
**TAF: Face to Face**  
Collateral Damage

_And still, those half-lidded golden eyes stared, glittering, feverish... curious..._

"M-Majere?" Akara gulped as the archmage slowly raised one slender hand to the base of her throat, dripping hot water from his fingertips before lowering them to her skin.

"I am being... terribly inappropriate," Raistlin's whisper sounded a little wistful, a little how it had sounded when he'd asked if they were no closer, now... Akara stared at him, his own strange gaze lowering to where his golden hand rested on her pale, almost sickly-white skin -- a trademark of her profession. He shifted his thin shoulders, twisting to better look at her as his gaze slid back up again. "I must apologize."

"It's... it's okay," Akara managed, and then felt her face heat all over again. Why was she saying that after he barged in on her like this, and k... ki... and climbed into the bathing tub with her! "I mean, it kind of isn't... but, I mean...!" the black-robe's stare finally got to her enough to make her stop trying, and her eyes narrowed, "You know, someday," Akara grumbled darkly, "you won't manipulate me so easily, and then what will you do?"

In response, he reached under the water and took her hand, brushing the backs of his fingers inadvertently against her bare thigh as he did so. Raistlin raised her captured hand to his lips, just as he had when they'd first met. "Is that such a terrible thought?" the archmage murmured, and then a faint smile tweaked his features as she jerked her hand back, her mind distracted briefly to a much _different_ topic again at that brush to her thigh, at his lips on her hand... "Or could it be that I look forward to the challenge? Ah..." wet fingertips rose to her cheeks; "you blush so easily around me, my dear master thief..."

"Stop that," Akara's brow furrowed, "I'm not used to this kind of... of... whatever this is!" Everything was so muddled! "Why are you in here?! Do you want something stolen? No? Then wh--"

Raistlin's hand firmly taking her chin again and turning her face to better look at it stopped her words. Golden eyes stayed transfixed on her, seeming almost fascinated by the play of emotions displayed so openly there. She was, as when they had first met, a bug under glass, being studied ever-so-carefully... no matter their current position or the actions they had both just taken. Akara felt her eyes narrow slightly at the realization that, even after _everything_, she was still just a project of his. A hobby he'd picked up to play with in between his studies... just like a pet rabbit!

"You can steal whatever you like," that soft voice interrupted her indignant thoughts, and she stared at Majere as he gave a half-wheeze, half-laugh, his energy still drained from his coughing fit, "just so long," he added thoughtfully, eyes glittering with what Akara thought might be mirth -- but she realized might be something else entirely, "as you do not mind losing a few things in return..."

"You're being really creepy, Majere," Akara informed him, and almost instantly regretted it as his expression closed off and he set the side of his head against her shoulder wearily.

"I truly do apologize," murmured the black-robe, "I have never done such things before; said such things before. They were always... beneath me," a small pause as he sighed shallowly, "or so I told myself, when every woman I ever looked upon gazed at me with revulsion or pity -- and often both at once! -- and then, when even my very _sight_ was cursed..." Raistlin let go of her chin, his fingers dragging down her throat as he let his hand drop. And then he laughed again, just as softly, but bitter now, and said, "If only my brother could see me now! Although, even now, it is not as though I am in this water out of invitation. No, I barged my way in in a moment of..." he trailed off, going silent as though in thought.

"...Of?" Akara couldn't help it. She knew that it was her line in _his_ script, but she still couldn't _help_ it. He sounded so lost, so bitter! She couldn't look away from his face, even though he'd let go of hers now, both with his hand and with his gaze.

"Of passion, I would suppose," Raistlin added quietly, tracing patterns in the water's surface again with his fingers, "Have I harmed anything, Akara?" he studied her again, intently, "You... will not run away again because of my moment of weakness, will you?"

_He's manipulating me!_ But just because she knew it, didn't mean she could help her response, her shoulders relaxing incrementally. She'd... been drawing him in his sleep, calling him beautiful, chasing after him to leave him trinkets and notes for far too long to resist him so close. "You're toying with me," said the thief, sounding tired even to her own ears.

"I know no other way," replied the archmage in much the same tone. And before she could react, his lips were on her neck again, tasting... she shuddered and, unthinking, tipped her head back. When she felt the tip of his tongue; the scrape of his teeth, she couldn't help but lift her hands to his shoulders -- now turned almost sideways -- and grab onto his thin linen tunic.

"...Why the shirt?" Akara finally asked, distractedly, "I've never seen you not in full robes before..." It seemed very important again, all of a sudden!

"Too much cloth to learn dancing in," Raistlin replied quite reasonably, as though he wasn't doing interesting things to her skin, his lips moving against her throat as he whispered, "I thought it would be more... practical this way."

"D-definitely," the thief agreed, her grip tightening on his shirt as he gave her neck an experimental nip.

"Although, if I had known it would have such a profound effect on you..." Majere added slyly, pulling back to lean against the side of the tub, his frame twisted mostly sideways, long legs tucked under one of hers, bent sharply at the knees, one slim hip almost... Akara shifted self-consciously, only to have her legs close around his stomach and back instead. He was so thin! She could practically _hear_ the smirk before she even looked, although when she finally did... he wasn't actually smirking at all.

Raistlin stared intently at her face, one wet hand lifting to smooth over her hair as she looked at him. His gaze was searching... still looking for... something. That revulsion and pity he'd talked about?

"I... I used to draw you, you know," she felt compelled to explain, "so seeing... it's just... very different, that's all," and to illustrate, she swept a fingertip along one collar-bone, easily visible through the wet tunic, and then another sweep as though outlining where the side of his neck met his body with a drawing-stick, and a third line following the thin muscle of his shoulder. All parts normally concealed beneath thick, heavy velvet. "Your robes hide a lot. ...What?" she asked when he continued to stare silently.

"I am not... accustomed to this wasted body being of such interest," the mage murmured, "my twin brother is large and strong, while I am..."

"Not? So what?" Akara sniffed, "There's nothing wrong with that. Maybe I'm just a city girl, or maybe it's because I come from _here_, where skinny mages run _everything_, but not everyone wants a hulking slab of meat." It was easy, while he stared in surprise, to forget their current predicament, to see it as a conversation on art as much as anything, and Akara waved one hand dismissively in the air, "Big strong guys all look the same anyway, once you've drawn one huge rippling bicep you've drawn them all. Just change their face and hair and you've got--"

Her conversational comments on his physique was more than enough to have Raistlin suddenly looming close, twisting around onto his knees again, his strange features so near it was hard for her eyes to focus on anything _but_ his face. Still searching, waiting...

Somehow, even though she was in the state she was in, and even though he knelt between her bare knees, his boots -- and wow, were they ever going to be soaked through! -- pressing lightly against her ankles, she didn't feel particularly threatened just now. He was so... he hadn't done anything inappropriate to her _below_ the neck, other than that one long, searing look... the situation itself was more intrusive than the mage was being, over-all. Even if the situation _was_ his fault. He hadn't done anything particularly _bad_ to her in any of their encounters, really, other than demanding to hear things he really shouldn't have been demanding to hear...

He wasn't like most men, and he was nothing at all like the perverted old mages she'd dealt with early on in her life as a Krinir daughter.

"Majere?" Akara whispered, and was surprised to find her hands holding the sides of his head, _keeping_ him that close, her fingers tangling in prematurely-white hair. She was even more surprised than he was when _she_ leaned forward first this time, the tip of her tongue darting out to stroke across his lips. Once, twice... bitter tea and sweet wine and... hot and slick and _oh_, that was _his_ tongue...

_So that's how they do it,_ she thought distractedly as their lips sealed, closing her eyes and feeling like she was going to melt right into the water. _Majere..._ Only when the rattle in his chest grew stronger did Akara pull back from him, her hand held over his heart, which beat just as fast and frantically as her own.

"We're both really dumb sometimes," Akara muttered almost sourly, and then sneezed into her other hand. And then sneezed again! Water sloshed over the side with the force of it, and she felt dizzy. Maybe she wasn't just light-headed because of the mage, after all... "Crap, I'm actually sick!"

Raistlin smoothed back her hair with one damp hand, and then slowly pulled away to stand up in the big, expensive porcelain tub, his clothes sticking to him -- not that Akara looked, of course! -- and then carefully stepping out. He offered her a hand, much as he had in front of the fire earlier in the evening.

One arm clutched strategically over her chest in the suddenly much-shallower, cooling water, Akara took his with her free hand, getting up and stepping out as well into the... "We made our own lake in here!" Indeed, his discarded spell components and cloak practically floated on the stone flooring, and Akara shot the archmage a nervous glance.

He looked at the belt, a faint frown on his face, then stooped to pick it up. "Much of it is probably dry," he assured her, "my equipment was made for traveling in poor weather as well."

"Oh... oh, right," Akara edged around behind him, finding and wrapping herself up quickly in a towel. "War hero, and all that. You guys had to do a lot of gallivanting across the country-side and stuff, right?"

"That is generally part of the role, yes," Raistlin smirked faintly, "although," he hefted the belt, looking at it critically, "it didn't normally involve being submerged in _hot_ water..." as though noticing her distressed look, he added softly, "It is of no consequence, Akara, _I_ am the one who climbed in. Everything perishable in here is easy enough to re--" _he_ sneezed, suddenly, "--replace."

Akara just shook her head, faintly amused at his plight -- though concerned, too, she remembered the last time he'd gotten sick around her! -- and pushed the small room's door open, letting a little of the flood out into the main room. "Come on," she said, "after the time I dunked you I grabbed some spare stuff and stuck it in the closet. If you stay soaked you're going to get pneu... pnue... _that_ again."

"Pneumonia," he murmured almost automatically, following after her as she went to said closet and pulled out a very generic, plain cloth robe. Brown, so not a conclave wizard's to be sure. She fidgeted, and held it out to him anyway.

"I know it isn't black velvet, but, it's dry?" she offered. "The cloak you lent me is still damp from the snow, too, so..."

"It will work for the time," Majere took the robe, and glanced towards her packs, "you should get dressed as well. I will turn my back if... ah.. you will do the same?"

Akara stared at him.

"...What _now_?" Raistlin asked, lowering the robe and looking at her.

"Oh, so you get to look at _me_ naked, but I don't get to--ack!" Akara half-flailed, half-pushed to turn him around to face away as his hands went to the ties to his simple clothing, "I was joking!" And she fled back to her bagged belongings, face heating at his quiet little laugh. _He knew I'd stop him,_ she knew instantly, _that manipulative bastard!_

The very fact that she recognized his manipulations much faster now never really registered to her. Indeed, one of these days, she would prove much harder to toy with... she pulled on her rough-spun pants and shirt in record time, and neither apparently peeked, because it took several moments of silence before Raistlin finally sneezed again and then said; "...I am covered."

"Yeah, me too." Akara stalked over to the fireplace, thankfully already lit from when she'd set up the tap for her soak, and gave the wood a few pokes before adding another of the stacked logs.

"Do you mind..." Raistlin sounded hesitant, and Akara looked over at him questioningly as the archmage came over to the fire and took a seat in the chair nearest it, which she always reserved for him anyway. "You never... sleep in your bed regardless, would it be permissible if... that is, I would like to stay in here tonight, if it would not make you too uncomfortable."

Akara thought about it. On the one hand, it was no worse than camping out together -- on the other hand, it would look pretty suspicious... but, at the same time, maybe it would keep her stepmother off of Raistlin for a while? She frowned, but nodded anyway. "Yeah. Like you said -- I don't even sleep in it anyway, so it may as well get used. 'Sides, if you start getting sicker I'd like to know it sooner rather than later." All very reasonable excuses, although it was really Victoria's knowing smirk in her head that decided it.

"Thank you, Akara," Raistlin murmured, settling back into the chair, "my dreams are likely to be troublesome tonight, I dislike being entirely alone with them. Although..." his gaze glittered curiously at her from across the room.

Akara fidgeted nervously in his general direction.

He said nothing, not yet fluent in the language of the fidget.

"Although _what?_" Akara finally demanded, folding her arms, "you know, just because we got all familiar with each other in there doesn't mean I have to take your mysterious crap!" She could still _taste_ him, she realized upon reminding herself of their 'familiarity', and felt her face redden. "Crap!"

"So eloquent," the archmage rasped, amusement glittering in his golden eyes, "Perhaps I am simply struck wordless by your grace and poise."

"You don't sound very wordless to me!" she grumped, and went over to her makeshift nest of blankets and pillows, pulling several of the thicker, warmer blankets out of the mess and hauling them over to the unused bed to throw on for him to use. Even with the fire roaring away for the night, she knew he'd need more blanket than not.

"Why _did_ it take your stepmother so long to arrive, I wonder?" Raistlin asked finally, though she felt certain that wasn't his original thought. "When we first came here, it was said she would be back within the next day, but we have been here for several weeks now."

"Who cares?" Akara snorted, jerking the heavy blankets around until the bed at least _resembled_ one that had been made, "Maybe she ran into trouble or something. Too bad it wasn't fatal." Realizing she'd said that last bit aloud, Akara glanced sharply in his direction... and found the black-robe watching her contemplatively.

_Of course he doesn't find that alarming or strange,_ she realized, _he's a black-robe, they deal with death all the time!_ Like the unknown man who had fired a crossbow bolt at them while traveling... she could remember his smoldering corpse on the ground, burned to a faceless crisp by Raistlin's magic. The thief shuddered.

"Akara," Raistlin's voice brought her back, and she looked over at him again, "you appear troubled..."

The thief opened her mouth, then closed it. There was no way to explain all the weird shit going on in her head! So she said, instead, "Good night, Majere," and went over to her blankets on the floor by the window, climbing under a few of them and turning her back on the rest of the room.

"Good night," the archmagus' whispered reply was barely audible to her as he turned to watch the fire instead.

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
**Review-replies can be found at AroWrites dot Net**


	19. White Roses and Scarlet Snow

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 12.22.2009:

Has it ever been mentioned that I'm usually a _dark-fic_ writer, not a romance writer? :) Oh, it has? Oh, okay. No, no reason... carry on.

Thank you all again for the comments! I'm glad to see not only some newer readers, but some more of the older TAF readers coming back as well! :D It's what keeps me writing fic, and coming back when life decides to chew on me for a while and contemplate the meaning of itself.

This is a short-ish chapter, but it has its reasons. More on the way!

_Hijacked, lost track, light fades another day left  
Long shadows lure you in  
The more you look the less you see  
So close your eyes and start to breathe  
Oh, you said yourself this wasn't easy  
-- Imogen Heap - Canvas_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
**TAF: Face to Face**  
White Roses and Scarlet Snow

Raistlin added another log to the fire, watching it catch slowly, the fire first licking around it and then slowly smoldering its bark before it began to burn with the others, slowly rendered indistinguishable from its charred brethren. He brushed a lock of still-damp hair absently from his forehead and glanced towards Akara's sleeping form, huddled completely under layers of blankets.

For a time, he went back to watching the fire. Then, restless, he rose to his feet and took up the Staff of Magius, which he had left leaning against a wall on the way to Akara's bathing chamber, and stepped out into the hall.

As he had come to expect, he found one of his and Akara's new 'shadows' near the door, the Weaponsmaster seated in a chair casually set against the wall, broadsword laid bare upon a cloth across her knees and a whetstone in her callused hand. Flat, almost-dead blue eyes looked up at him briefly, glazing, withering, drying, as the flesh around them cracked and peeled, a wriggling white maggot crawling out from the socket... and he blinked, once and she was briefly normal again. Briefly. Her hair began graying out to white in the span of moments, beginning to fall out of a scalp that peeled back...

Not enjoying watching this particular woman rot away with the passage of time -- for she had really been nothing but helpful in his time _here_ -- Raistlin finally looked away, casting about for another chair and drawing it over beside hers, and then taking a seat. It was always a little jarring all over again, seeing everyone falling apart with time, after spending a while exclusively in Akara's company. This was, perhaps, a small part of why he kept to his Tower and his studies so diligently.

_Sniiiick, sniiiiick,_ Alleyana went back to sharpening her blade, looking it over with a critical, professional eye. Raistlin knew from having done this a few times before that he could sit here for hours and she would never say a word without first being given a reason to. This was truly not someone made uncomfortable by the silence.

"Lady Weaponsmaster," he chose to break the silence himself, regardless, his rasp polite.

"Archmagus Majere," she replied in kind, pausing at the end of another long swipe of her stone and eyeing him sidelong. While they had originally seemed destined to clash -- mage versus warrior, cat versus dog -- she didn't seem to hold any particular animosity towards him now. Better than most warriors he had encountered on Krynn! But, perhaps some of that could be attributed to the odd way that Krontis was arranged around the mages who lived and ruled here...

"My curiosity has finally gotten the better of me," Raistlin lied easily enough -- because, really, it had been getting the better of him the entire time he'd been here! -- "What can you me about Krontis?"

Alley went back to sharpening her sword, twisting the blade in the torch-light to inspect it. "Probably a lot," the woman grunted, "be more specific."

"Very well," Raistlin considered for a moment, then asked, "Why does this place have so many strange things that Krynn does not? Is this another plane?"

"Yeah, kind of," Alleyana set her sharpening stone aside and produced a small vial of oil from her belt, dripping it onto the blade and smearing it very carefully with the corner of the cloth on her lap. Mineral oil, he knew the smell well enough. "Tannusen and I were both born here, but our father wasn't. Whenever someone finds out about this place, they tend to show up here and they rarely ever leave again."

The mage nodded, remembering Akara saying something along those lines -- that it didn't matter what direction they traveled in away from Palanthas, they would end up in her city, and that it might be problematic for him to leave again. Raistlin was lost in his thoughts when Alley continued, startling him.

"I know that it was founded by a bunch of Krynnish mages," Alleyana said, sheathing the broadsword, "who knew they'd lose favor on your world and wanted their own... playground. I don't know if it was accident or intent that opened this place up to _other_ worlds, but the weird things you see around you... some of it is more alien than you know. Krontis' roots are in Krynn, but it's a different place than any other after so many generations."

"...I do not believe that I have ever heard you say so much at one time, my lady," Raistlin murmured, and inclined his head toward her rather respectfully, "you have my gratitude." It was much more information than he'd hoped for from the quiet guardian, to be sure.

"Go to bed, Majere," Alleyana looked up from her handiwork to eye him critically. Obviously the darkness under his eyes was becoming more noticeable. "You could use it."

"I think... that you are correct," the archmage agreed, and pulled himself wearily to his feet with the assistance of his staff, "but I have miles to go before I sleep..."

Alley's response was a noncommittal grunt, and Raistlin looked at her for a moment as her lips shriveled back from white teeth -- he stared a few moments longer, then looked away as he walked past the door to Akara's room and onwards down the hall, borrowed brown robes whispering around his ankles. Even he could only grow _so_ used to his curse, after all; it was still a _curse_.

A pause in his own room to change into his proper clothing, and then he went into the hall again. There were no visible followers, but he knew already that the watch was being split as he strayed further from the guards' other charge, and _someone_ was tailing him -- the woman Roande, perhaps, or the blond man Tannusen. Even Raistlin was never sure when it was one of those two, and he rarely ever caught sight of either.

But this time, when he pushed open the door to the Krinir house library with the crystal atop his staff lighting the way, he felt certain there was someone _else_ watching as well. Smirking faintly to himself from the safety of the shadows of his black hood, the archmage went inside.

Game, set, match...

* * *

Akara woke up from nightmares of her own at some indeterminate hour, crawling blearily out of the blankets and shivering as the cold air hit her. A glance toward the fireplace showed it had died down to smoldering coals, and she padded silently over to throw more sticks and chopped wooden logs in, sneezing quietly into her sleeve as she did so. It wouldn't do to let Majere freeze.

A glance toward the bed, of course, showed it still made-up, unused. She frowned faintly. Had the archmage gone off and gotten distracted? He was sick, too! "And this is how he gets _really_ sick," the thief muttered to herself, going to her packs and digging around in them. She still hadn't gone and gotten any new clothes, and she ended up on her heels holding her carved wooden mask in one hand and the thin brown scarf in the other.

"Screw it," Akara snorted, and pulled it on and tied it into place with practiced ease. The mask changed the shape of her cheekbones, forehead, temples, and bridge of her nose, and left much of her lower face free, the scarf wrapped strategically to keep her eyes clear and her nose able to scent the air while holding the mask firmly in place. It wouldn't budge now, no matter _what_ crazy maneuvers she pulled. "If he gets to be dumb, so do I!"

But, she lacked any extra layers against the cold. Tying her toolbelt on, the thief padded into the bathing room -- the lake had drained down the floor grate beneath the tub, finally -- and took Raistlin's cloak off the back of the door. He seemed to like her... calling, so it felt suitable enough even if wearing true _black_ while skulking around offended her professional pride. At least it was soft black, and not shiny or sleek. She did up the clasps and then slipped out through the window, careful not to leave any tracks on the snowy sill as she jumped off and snagged the next windowsill over with the points of her hook held firmly in hand, easing her way down the rope.

Time to go clear her head. She ran through the city streets, dodging guards and their torches accordingly, avoiding all light, and then found the mausoleum she had waited on top of so many winters ago. A swing of her hook and a few moments of climbing later, and she was atop it again, the freezing winter wind whipping at the borrowed cloak. _This thing is _so_ not meant for what I do,_ she thought with faint amusement, fingering the golden-stitched runes on the hood as she pulled it over her head, _but I'm not out stealing anything anyway._

"Are you sure you should be up there at this hour, Lady Akara?" Tannusen's purr from below was unexpected, and Akara started, almost falling right off the sharply-slanted, icy roof.

"T-Tannu?" she whispered, staring down at the pale man who smiled pleasantly up at her in the dark, his white-blond hair stirring in the wind around him. _Talk about not really meant for stealth,_ she thought sourly, _but he still managed to tail me!_ Even his clothing was white, tonight, which wasn't _bad_ for trailing someone through the snow, come to think of it, but it still wasn't that good, now was it? Still, he had taken _her_ by surprise...

"May I come up? I will, ah, need the assistance of your rope if so. I don't carry such things," he said apologetically, spreading white-gloved hands in the dark. He practically glowed in the faint, ambient light shining off the snow all around. A statue of winter come to life. Wordlessly, Akara let her rope drop, and watched as the man she still remembered as a bruised-kneed -- and occasionally bruised-faced -- youth scale up the rope as confidently as she ever did, if not quite as quickly.

"Those training sessions you were always getting cloistered off to as a kid," she said slowly as he coiled up the line after he'd pulled himself to the top, "they weren't just for dancing and horse-back riding, were they? That's why you were always beat to shit."

"I have no idea what you mean, my Lady Krinir," Tannusen's ever-present purr was strange all over again after so many years of not hearing it. "You haven't come here the whole time you have been back," he added, "I felt it was only a matter of time, so I was able to come here directly when I saw you leave. Besides," he smiled, slightly lop-sided at the masked thief, the expression reaching his vivid blue eyes, "I keep hearing that there are dangerous people out."

Akara pulled her legs up so she could rest her chin on her knees, and eyed him sidelong, the mask barely noticeable out of the corner of her eye, so carefully had it been carved. "You don't say."

The silence was companionable for a while, as though it hadn't been half a lifetime since they'd done this last, and then Tannusen climbed back to his feet and offered her back her expertly-coiled rope. Before she could take it from him, however, both of them froze in place for a moment, breaths catching--

And then the night erupted into gunfire, as both the master thief and the white shadow plummeted from the rooftop.

Akara felt the world flash white and spin sharply as her shoulder slammed into the snowy ground first, a sickening crunch resounding in her mind -- felt more than heard -- and she could barely hear Tannusen cursing over the blood roaring in her ears as he helped her scramble up and quickly hauled her into the mausoleum itself, slamming the steel door shut behind them.

The stained-glass windows to either side exploded, dark-shrouded bodies climbing in from the outside, as Tannu shoved her for the staircase down into the catacombs below. "_Go!_" he barked the order, the gentleman's mask gone as he snarled ferally and charged at their attackers, his white clothing already leaking steaming scarlet into the cold air. Still more bodies poured into the tomb, an unbeatable wave, and Akara turned and vanished into the catacombs, something close to snapping inside her mind.

She wasn't a violent girl, she wasn't a violent girl, she wasn't a...

Above ground, heard clearly as she ran, the gunfire finally _stopped_ and nearly took her heart with it, the thief gasping in a sob as she kept running. Two heartbeats later, the world upstairs exploded, pouring heat and smoke and the reek of burning flesh down into the tunnels. Akara _kept running_, her own teeth baring in a snarl, ignoring the grate of bone on bone in her shoulder as she sprinted west. West, where that _house_ was...

Akara Krinir wasn't a violent girl, but sometimes life had other plans.

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
**Review-replies can be found at AroWrites dot Net**


	20. Something to Lose

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 12.23.2009:

Akara really gets the shit kicked out of her a lot, doesn't she? :D;; It's what happens when you hang out with very dangerous people, while yourself being kinda... squishy.

Thanks go to my roommate Danielle for letting me ramble about the plot (endlessly), and helping me fit a few future twists together better, as well as some light grammar-fixing. :3

_And I'm haunted by the lives that I have loved  
And actions I have hated  
I'm haunted by the promises I've made  
And others I have broken  
-- Poe - Haunted_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
**TAF: Face to Face**  
Something to Lose

"Hello, Raistlin," the expected voice said from the darkness a while after the Archmage found an interesting book and settled down with it by the fireplace he'd lit. Raistlin twitched as though surprised, and glanced up and over towards the voice as it continued, "...It's rather late for reading, isn't it?"

"Is it ever late for reading?" Raistlin questioned back, gently closing the aged, dusty tome and then looking up again as Victoria Krinir stepped into the firelight. "Good evening, Lady Krinir."

"Victoria, please," the woman said pleasantly as she approached his chair, "we are both Archmagi. By Krontis' etiquette we should be on a first name basis, even if you _are_ here to court my stepdaughter." And she offered her hand, which he took and bowed over from his chair. Her eyes settled briefly on the book in his lap, as though pulled there.

"Please pardon my not getting up," Raistlin murmured, "I seem to be growing even more ill from chasing after her through the snow earlier..."

"That's quite all right," Victoria smiled and took her hand back, before strolling around behind his chair and leaning over his shoulder to look at the book in his lap, her long hair almost brushing the side of his face, "she _is_ quite the handful... it was good of you to go out after her in that horrid weather, I don't know that I could have convinced her to come back by myself." That her voice hardened when she read the cover of the book did not go unnoticed.

"Well," he allowed himself to stare up at her unchanging face in the firelight, "she does have her charms... as do you. Would you care to join me?" Raistlin gestured at the chair across the fireplace from his own, "I can ask you about your fine city, and you can ensure I do not expire from my illness."

"Only," Victoria walked back around to the front of his chair and held out her hand, "if you'll turn over that book. Where did you find it?"

Raistlin glanced down at the book in his hands. _Magekiller_, it read in intricate, barely-legible letters. Documentation and stories told of a man who had lived long ago in Krontis. Only part of his career had reached Raistlin on Krynn, in a book he'd read about thieves -- apparently it had only been part of his story. Raistlin wordlessly held out the book, noting the tinniest, almost imperceptible downwards tightening of the corner of Victoria's lips as she took the book from him and set it aside. Disdain.

"It was on the shelf," he gestured with one slender hand to the shelf above the fireplace, "covered in dust as no other book in this library is. I must admit it drew my curiosity."

"Would it surprise you to know that I have destroyed this book dozens of times?" Victoria asked, stroking her hand -- subtly scraping her long nails, he noted -- over the worn leather cover, "and it always comes back, covered in a white dust like crematory ashes. I wonder, sometimes, if it's possible that it's haunted somehow..."

"Anything is possible," Raistlin Majere smiled thinly, settling back in his chair. "Or perhaps someone is just fooling you with many copies of it?"

Victoria shook her head, staring at the book. "It's the same copy as it ever is, I doubt more than one was ever made. Watch," she lifted the book in one hand and flung it into the fireplace, causing Raistlin to cringe faintly -- he never approved of destroying a book -- and the flames turned an odd shade of purple, the smoke billowing up through the chimney tinged blue. "Within the week, it will be back again, and again, and again..." she trailed off, watching the pages blacken and curl, then shook her head and looked at him. "I am dreadfully sorry, I'd heard how much you love books... but that particular one..."

"I understand," Raistlin murmured, and then his lungs seized as a finger-like tendril of that blue smoke reached him and he bent forward, coughing into his hand. And coughing, and coughing, and he couldn't _inhale_ and the sound became faint as the blood rushing in his ears became a roar and he grew light-headed -- and then -- it released him, as it always did, and he was left shaking and weak in the chair. Victoria had rushed over, kneeling by him on the rug, cold hands on his shoulders...

He took a cloth from inside his cloak, and went to wipe the faint taste of blood from his lips, only to have the cloth taken from him and the woman doing it instead.

"Pardon me," she said after seeming to realize how personal a gesture it was.

"No pardon necessary," Raistlin rasped in his torn voice, staring at her in the firelight. Victoria smiled faintly, and pressed the cloth back into his hand, moving to stand back up again.

The two black-robes were silent for a moment, Raistlin leaning back into the chair wearily and Victoria simply standing where she was, watching the fire... and that was when he saw _it_.

A splinter of shadow, darker black than the darkness around itself, detached from the rest of the room and prowled closer on utterly, eerily silent feet. He watched, not saying a word, slightly transfixed to finally get a glimpse with his own eyes of that almost frightful stealth--

And then Victoria was whirling around to face it, too, as though warned, a strange expression briefly twisting her face as the silver flash of a knife caught the light. She hissed words of magic even as the knife was repelled by her shielding, somehow already up, and light flared through the room as crystal spheres all around the huge chamber lit up all at once, throwing the shadow into stark and sudden contrast.

Crouched down low on the floor on two feet and a left arm that slowly dripped blood onto the carpet, the Black Rabbit's masked face sneered hatefully at the other woman, knife held ready for another strike in her right hand. "You killed him," snarled Akara, and lunged forward, knife immediately reflected by that shield again. And then Victoria went on the offensive, bolts of energy flinging at the thief who almost effortlessly flipped _over_ the black-robe, landing on her feet beside Raistlin's chair.

Raistlin, who watched all of this with slightly widened eyes, and who did not yet move to interfere. It didn't seem that either woman remembered he was here, anyway. Even Akara didn't look towards him for help or guidance, so focused on her target was she. And Victoria -- it was Victoria whom Raistlin stared at the most, the woman's careful demeanor temporarily shattered; a terrible, monstrous expression twisting her features. Hate. Hate so strong it made Akara's emotions look pale in comparison! Akara's blood had dripped onto the woman's face during that flip, and she wiped it off hurriedly as though it burned.

"You killed Tannusen! You tried to kill me, but you killed him instead! I'll see you gutted, you filthy fucking bitch!" Akara was shouting -- her voice as hoarse and as shattered as Raistlin's ever was -- but the thief clearly didn't care; she grabbed the end-table beside him and flung it at Victoria, the furniture shattering on the black-robe's shields. And she sprung forward again, so closely behind the table that Victoria had no time to react between the wood's impact and the thief's, the knife still unable to pierce--! But Akara's sheer momentum knocked the other woman over, and she stabbed down at Victoria's face _again_--

She was untrained with that knife, not particularly gifted in the art of _hurting_ people, but her skills as a thief translated easily to this regardless and Raistlin could see that one of them _would_ kill the other if left unchecked any longer. In particular, Victoria's shields showed no sign of weakening in the least, but _Akara_ certainly did, her skin sickly-pale and her left shoulder sitting wrong beneath the borrowed black velvet cloak, a feverish glint to her dark green eyes. But even if she had been uninjured and whole, Raistlin could see that Victoria's shields were unnaturally strong and would hardly weaken under such a barrage.

The scent of burning flesh forced Raistlin into action. He stood even as Victoria's fingers closed around Akara's throat, glowing with the power of a hissed spell that should have ripped Akara's head straight off -- and he crouched down beside them, chanting a counter-spell so quickly that a lesser mage would surely have tripped over the words and fouled it. With a strength that surprised even him, Raistlin pried Victoria's fingers loose from seared, bubbling skin, grabbing Akara around the waist with his free arm and hauling her back. "Both of you, stop this!" he snapped, snatching the Staff back up with his now-freed hand and holding it between the two women to prevent more attacks from either. "_Now!_"

Akara's own struggles were alarmingly weak, Raistlin's thin arm holding her pinned against his side, and Victoria scrambled to her feet and backed away. Blood smeared her hands -- Akara's blood -- and Raistlin watched as the woman carefully wiped it off onto her black silken robes. _It_ had pierced the strange shielding and stained her skin effortlessly when nothing else had, not so much as a single wood sliver even from the floor.

_Very_ interesting. He spared Akara a glance, noting her eyes glazing over... rolling back... with a concerted effort, he managed to pull himself to his feet with his Staff, hauling Akara to her own feet with him.

"Are you unharmed, Victoria?" he asked, and the woman nodded, wide eyes now more fearful and wounded than hateful. But he'd seen... he'd seen, and that was enough. Giving a curt nod, Raistlin turned to half-lead, half-drag Akara from the room. "We will sort out what happened later," he rasped, "right now, I must tend to her."

Not waiting for a confirmation from the other black-robe, Raistlin muttered spidery words and both he and Akara -- with a lurch he _felt_ -- vanished.

* * *

Flashes of light, flashes of dark, burning human remains both new and old, her own screaming -- Akara woke from her fever-dream as suddenly as a gunshot, clawing at the bed she found herself face down on with bloodied fingertips, her open mouth twisting into a teeth-bared snarl. She would claw that woman's eyes out! She would--

"Stop that," Raistlin's voice murmured calmly to her from above, and Akara realized with a moment's panic that there was weight on her holding her down, "Akara!"

"Keep her from moving that arm, Majere!" Another voice snapped, and too-warm hands settled obediently on Akara's arm to hold it down beside her as she tried to thrash, "Hold her still!" A needle pricked the side of Akara's neck, cold flooding in... and with it, calm. Slowly, the thief settled down, the drug taking quick effect, she could feel her eyes glazing as her focus blurred.

Even as her wooden mask was pulled free of her face by careful golden fingers, she felt consciousness slipping away again... slipping back into that horrifying place in between... and then all was dark again.

...When she next woke, she was on her right side on the bed, warm blankets draped over her bare skin. Raistlin was easily spotted beside the fire, a spellbook open in his lap. He looked up as her gaze focused, and closed the tome, setting it on the chair as he vacated it and walked over to her.

"Doctor Jones set and bound your shoulder," he murmured in explanation when she tried to move and found that her left arm was bound up against her chest, immobilizing her shoulder, her entire upper torso felt constricted with bandages. Her pants were still on, but obviously another tunic had bitten the blood-stained dust that was her most recent medical history. Akara swallowed, and raised her free hand beneath the blankets, finding that her neck was tightly bound in much the same way and that it _hurt_ under the bandages, even through the drugs in her body, as though the whole thing had been skinned deeply.

Flashes of her fight with Victoria came back, and she could feel her anger rising right along with her bile.

"Weaponsmaster Alleyana went out... she found Tannusen," Raistlin continued to report, his voice gentle as he sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. "There was not much left. I am... sorry, Akara. I know that you two were friends as children."

Akara closed her eyes.

"Lady Roande has already left, she stated that she will not come back," the Archmage paused... and then continued, "We can leave as well, if you truly wish to. However--" he interrupted as she opened her mouth to reply, "I would prefer us to stay so that I may deliver on my promise to you."

"Your promise?" Akara asked, re-opening her eyes. Her voice sounded worse than his after a coughing fit, it was so completely shot. Smoke and ash and screaming and then almost losing her neck... she stroked her fingers over the bandages wound around her throat, wondering how deep the burns went, the smell of burning flesh... not just her own...

"Revenge, my dear," Raistlin's eyes held a particular terrible gleam that made Akara's blood chill, "the sweetest promise of them all." As though noticing how she wanted to shrink back from that _look_, his gaze gentled again, and he murmured, "I already know how I must do it, but... you may end up hating me for it, Akara. Just remember your _own_ promise."

He looked startled when Akara snaked her free hand out from underneath the blankets and took one of his own -- his were so warm, almost scalding to her chilled skin! "I'll never hate you, Majere," the thief said quietly, "and that _is_ a promise. No matter what, I could never... I could never hate you!"

The mage looked stunned, and he lifted her hand to his lips -- she pulled it back, because the contact _burned_ to her now, her own temperature too low with lost blood. "That was my mother's tomb," Akara whispered, clutching weakly at her bandaged throat, "she burned, too. Tannusen... did it to take out all those guys, didn't he?"

"Undoubtedly," Raistlin looked at her hand at her neck, then back at her face, "They would have chased you otherwise, and you would hardly have made it back here again."

"I'm not blaming him," Akara rasped, "I'm not blaming him at all! There are two people I blame, and we both should be dead. I'll see to it she dies first, though. She's the only one who it could have been, if _you_ were the target of those assassins they wouldn't have gone after me, but they did, while I was out being stupid by myself and Tannu followed along to guard me. They came anyway, and they almost got us both!"

"Akara..." Raistlin tried to interject, but Akara wasn't done.

"If I hadn't been out by myself like that, if I hadn't gone out to clear my head, he'd still be--!" But he finally interrupted her effectively, placing his fingers over her lips to silence her, and then when she opened her mouth to continue beneath them anyway, he slipped two fingertips between her teeth, his gaze intently challenging. _Bite,_ he seemed to be daring her, his soft voice ringing clearly in her mind, _go ahead! Bite if you are so angry!_

Akara stared defiantly up at him, then sealed her lips closed and _sucked_. His hands were clean, they were always clean -- the man was fastidious to a fault -- and all there was to taste was Raistlin's skin and perhaps the faintest trace of old leather from his spellbook.

For his own part, Raistlin's eyes widened almost comically, his entire frame giving a startled _jerk_ as something else entirely suddenly flared up in his gaze. The thief tried to analyze what it was, and felt her face redden with realization as Raistlin's eyes narrowed, darkened... slowly, intently, he pushed his fingertips in further... and Akara ran her tongue along the sensitive pads.

"Akara," Raistlin rasped, stroking her cheek with his other hand, leaning close, "if you must spew such foolish notions as taking guilt for your stepmother's crimes, then perhaps I should keep your mouth... busy."

That, of course, was when she bit down. Hard.

Raistlin nevertheless didn't try to jerk his hand back, though a pained hiss of breath tore out of him. Instead, his own cheeks coloring faintly, he climbed onto the bed, pushing her onto her back under the blankets and straddling her stomach, and pushed his fingers in _further_. She could taste his blood, very faintly, electric from his magic... and felt compelled to relax again; let him slide his long fingers in as deep as he wanted -- almost gagging before he started to pull them back.

Then, in the epitome of suggestive, he pushed inwards again, slowly fucking her mouth with his bleeding fingers, staring intently at her lips as his blood barely wet them with every slow pull back.

Akara shuddered, squirming weakly beneath the blankets. They were both such _freaks_...

_I almost died tonight,_ the thought was insidious, working its way in even as her blood finally warmed up, _My friend died. I _almost_ died twice!_ Reaching up with her one good hand, she removed his from her mouth, and stared at him critically as Raistlin was caught in a moment of utter uncertainty. _I don't want... I could still die tonight for all I know!_ Fear had always been a potent drug for Akara, even the fear of dying, but now she just found it... horrifying. She had something to lose, for the very first time.

"...Get under the blankets if you're going to do shit like that," she managed to rasp, her voice rougher than it had been a moment ago. Raistlin... hesitated, and then pulled his hand back. She waited, watching to see what he would do as he took a deep breath and pulled the blanket back, climbing in beside her, barefoot but otherwise fully dressed. Akara reached with her good hand and pulled at his long robe ineffectively. This one-hand bullshit was getting old, fast! "Off," she demanded, "I'm tired of being the only one with skin showing when shit like this happens." It was easy to be reckless in light of what had happened, and the drugs kept the pain of her shoulder mostly at bay... for now. _For now._ She clenched her fist in the thick velvet.

"My dear, I hardly think..." his quiet voice was a little breathless, she noticed, and Akara gave a jerk at the cloth.

"Off or get out," she whispered, "you've seen me naked so many times and I've never even seen you shirtless! I almost _died_ and I've never even...! I've never...!" The heat of the moment was lost already, her vision blurring, the shock starting to wear off and her hand starting to tremble.

Swallowing visibly, Raistlin carefully pried her hand off of his clothing, and sat up. He shucked off his cloak, and loosened his robe's ties at his throat before pulling it off over his head, his back visible to her first while he did so. Akara stared, as surprised by her own demands as she was by his following them, and her eyes traced his protruding spine; visible ribs; old scars pale and sickly over taut golden skin. His hair fell differently against his skin than his clothing, moving easier as the mage set the robe on the foot of the bed and then lay back, tense and waiting...

Akara wiped her own tears away with her hand and then levered herself up to look at him properly. Raistlin watched her like a cornered animal, ready to be defensive at _any_ moment... the thief just eased over closer and then laid down again on her good side, setting her head on his shoulder as more sobs tore out of her throat. "I'm sorry Majere," she said in between gasps, "you're not why I'm upset! I..."

"You have shattered half a dozen bones in your shoulder, between the initial injury and what you put it through after... and you just lost an old friend," Raistlin murmured, "I perfectly understand," and he drew the blanket over them both and shifted so that he could cautiously lay his other arm over her bare waist, the one trapped under her head curling behind her. Akara shivered and burrowed closer, the mage was so warm it was almost unbearable, but better his heat than the cold of her thoughts! "We are safe for the time being, rest and recover what you may."

"Majere," Akara murmured, curling her free hand between them, the back resting against his heartbeat, "climb into my bath whenever you like, just next time... take your clothes off too. I'd... I'd like that, even if I bitch. You're too beautiful to never be seen." There, she'd said it. If she died in her sleep, if the room exploded into gunfire or magefire and she died, she'd _said_ it. Again. To his face. Again! Tears still slowly leaking from between her eyelids, she let the drugs in her system and the safety of that almost-unbearable heat do their work, and slipped quickly back asleep, too exhausted by her ordeal to stay conscious against the tide of the painkillers and her blood-loss.

Raistlin, for his own part, remained awake for a long time after, staring contemplatively at nothing at all.

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
**Review-replies can be found at AroWrites dot Net**


	21. Ashes to Ashes

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 12.25.2009:

I tried, previously, to keep my darkfic tendencies out of TAF. It was meant to be silly, adrenalin-fueled fun in the first two stories, and then became silly, WAFF-y romance with a dash of adrenalin and citrus as of the third story. Here, as of about fifteen chapters into the forth and years later, I've realized that my ex was insane for encouraging me to write nothing but fluff in this story. At so many chapters, it _needs_ a spine to stand upright with and to reach any sort of conclusion in its plot.

That, and darkness _should_ be in any extensive plots involving Raistlin Majere, don't you think? And I suppose that it's appropriate that things should get darker as Akara herself matures, all-told.

...No, I really don't have anything better to do on christmas than to write dark-plot. Merry x-mas to the readers, all the same. ^^

_Don't cry, there's always a way...  
Here in November in this house of leaves, we'll pray!  
Please... I know it's hard to believe  
To see a perfect forest, through so many splintered trees.  
You and me, and these shadows keep on changing!  
-- Poe - Haunted_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
**TAF: Face to Face**  
Ashes to Ashes

_Moonlight. Heartbeats -- one, two, three. Shadows. Four, five, six. The numbers counted on lips that did not speak; had not spoken in years, perhaps, so natural was the silence. Rainwater running off of the rooftop and into the gutters. Seven, eight, nine. Movement down below, a door opening and closing, golden lamp-light briefly meeting silver moonlight before being extinguished again. Ten, eleven, twelve. A hood being pulled over dark brown hair. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Two steps out from under the roof ledge, skirting around where the runoff was the strongest..._

_Sixteen, seventeen..._

_A knife coated in dark ash would not glint, no matter how many moons were out. The one counting heartbeats continued to count -- eighteen, nineteen, twenty -- and jumped from the rooftop. A knife covered in dark ash still slid through a throat easily enough, one hand on the victim's forehead, the other awash in hot blood. Twenty-two, twenty-three. The tingling scent of magic un-cast hitting the night air as the twitching body fell, clutching at its ash-smeared throat, gurgling what _would_ have been a spell..._

_At thirty heartbeats, the body had stopped moving, and the one counting was already gone._

Akara half-woke.

The world veered sharply left, the darkness beneath blankets taking the place of moonlight, oven-like warmth taking the place of cold rain, the constriction of a bandage taking the place of hot wet blood on her left hand. She gasped in great shuddering -- silent -- breaths, and clenched both hands futilely when the blankets over her head were pulled back.

Blue smoke seemed to fill Akara's mind, fogging it, making the words said to her distant and forgettable. She stared blankly at golden skin as the voice continued, growing more urgent. Akara reached up with her free hand and set it on that oddly-colored chest, feeling a heart-beat, before pressing her ear there instead. One, two, three...

"Akara..." Raistlin trailed off, staring down at the thief as her fever drug her back under. This wasn't the first time she'd woken up gasping for air tonight, but thankfully her condition didn't seem to be worsening, even if it wasn't yet improving. The mage looked at the morning light through-out the room and gently pried himself away from the sleeping thief, slipping his robe back on and padding on bare feet over to the fireplace.

There, on the mantle over the dying embers, Raistlin's eyes settled on an old, leather-bound tome, covered in fine white dust like crematory ashes. It hadn't been there the night before. "Magekiller," he murmured, and lifted the book in his hands.

Raistlin turned to take a seat by the fire, and found that even _he_, master of the Tower of High Sorcery of Palanthas, could be made to jump nearly out of his skin. A tall, ghostly figure regarded him with calculating dark eyes, so close that it made the black-robe take a reflexive, defensive step backwards, sucking in a startled gasp.

Akara's great-grandfather's uncle, Grissom Krinir, one of the most famous thieves of Krynn's past and _the_ Magekiller of Krontis. This was _his_ book that Raistlin held in his hands, and if there was ever a ghost for an Archmage to worry about having at his back... but no knives showed, the ghost simply watched him. So far.

"Grissom Krinir, I presume?" Raistlin asked after taking a single moment to gather his composure. The ghost inclined his head, and raised a hand to adjust the expensive spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose. He didn't look like the ghost of a famous thief or a serial mage-killer, but Raistlin knew better than to let that throw him off. Even Akara didn't really look her own part, which in turn was the hallmark of the skilled professional. And if there was one thing the Magekiller had been...

"Would you like me to give this to her when she wakes up?" the Archmage guessed, lifting the book meaningfully, "I assure you that it will not end up in the fireplace again, at least not while it is in _my_ care."

The ghost inclined his head again. His black hair was pulled into a neat tail at the nape of his neck, slightly singed at the ends like his otherwise-pristine clothing. He appeared to have been taller than Raistlin, even when the mage stood up straight as he did now. The gaze from those dark green eyes went past the black-robe and to the fire.

"Is there a reason you do not speak?" Raistlin asked finally, curiosity overtaking him as his unease slowly, slowly faded. Still no knives, no sudden movements -- he knew all too well how solid a ghost could be when they chose. The ghost's stare went from the fire and back to him for a long moment, and then the deceased Krinir opened his mouth; opened it wide and held it that way, dark eyes holding an odd, challenging glint behind the after-image of spectacles.

Taking the invitation, Raistlin lifted his heels slightly, peered inside, and then recoiled. There was no tongue, only the ghostly after-image of a scarred-over stump! Which meant... "That predates your death by a number of years," he said, astonished, and he glanced at the book in his hands, his sharp mind working fast. "Removing your tongue must have been to keep you silent about something. You were only the Magekiller for a few years before your... death."

Grissom Krinir closed his mouth, and nodded slowly. The ghost, at least, did not appear to be offended.

"But you were literate, you could have written down whatever it was--" Raistlin's musing was interrupted by the ghost pointing towards the door out of the room. He hesitated, and glanced at the bed and the sleeping, living Krinir in it. "She will be safe alone?"

The ghost dropped his arm, and drifted -- no, walked, as though living -- over to the bedside, pulling the blankets back with a tug of an almost-substantial hand. Akara was still in her fever-dreams, her mouth open slightly and her breath coming fast. Grissom Krinir watched her for a moment as Raistlin watched him, and then reached down to pull at her wounded shoulder, rolling her onto her back. The ghost lifted her right wrist and looking thoughtfully at the old bite scars there, and then turned to Raistlin questioningly, perhaps even challenging.

"That is from years ago," Raistlin felt compelled to explain, aware he was being judged, "when I was fevered, she prevented me from casting by holding onto my hands and using her own wrist... I have never _deliberately_ harmed her."

Krinir watched him a moment longer, visibly weighing his words, and then let Akara's wrist drop. He seemed more insubstantial now, manipulating the mortal world was clearly a highly taxing effort. Again, he pointed towards the door, and this time Raistlin set the book down and quickly pulled on his boots, taking up his staff even as the ghost swept past him and through the closed door. Raistlin hurried along behind, as he hadn't had to do with anyone in a very long time.

The ghost stuck, thankfully, to the corridors and doorways that Raistlin could pass through, leading him deeper into the old house than he'd gone before, through doors that hadn't been opened in a long enough time to gather dust in their frames. More than once, Raistlin had to hold his sleeve over his nose and mouth or risk a terrible coughing fit. This house was one of the oldest buildings in Krontis, the Krinir family had been one of the founders and Grissom Krinir had himself been the one to design the strange plumbing system. He undoubtedly knew all the hidden nooks and crannies and secret passages.

More than once, the ghost paused beside a wall and gestured to have Raistlin push at a hidden panel, or step on a particular corner of an old slat of wood; more than once, they descended steep staircases cramped and sharply-curving between walls. It occurred to Raistlin many times that the ghost could be leading him to his death -- the _Magekiller_ was an odd guide for the infamous black-robe to be following, to say the least! -- but he reminded himself, each time, that there were easier ways to go about it, even for a ghost. This man, in life, had perfected the art of permanently silencing spellcasters, and would have been a formidable foe indeed if he'd turned upon Raistlin, even in death.

Finally, deep underground where the walls and floor had become stone and the ceiling remained out of the light of his staff, it seemed that they had arrived. The door Raistlin was made to push open was heavy and made of hewn rock, almost impossible for him to move. The room beyond was blackened and charred, a stone pedestal in the center covered in white ash. Raistlin looked askance at the ghost, only to find that he was alone, nothing but blue smoke drifting in the air beside him, dissipating slowly.

He stepped into the room, a cold sense of dread overtaking him as the heavy stone door ground shut behind him. Now it was just Raistlin and the room, and the light of his staff shone on the ashes. Nowhere to go but forward, the mage stepped further in, stepped up to the pedestal and slid his fingers through what had to be the remains of a man put to death by fire -- there was no mistaking the soft silt texture of the powder as anything else. He looked up, raising his staff to see higher than it naturally shone, and stared at a fire-blackened metal cage suspended high up, the shackles from within hanging out through the bars at the bottom. It had been too many centuries for anything to remain, but...

Raistlin remembered, he remembered when flames had licked at his legs, when he had almost been put to death. He remembered -- too vividly now, _all too vividly_, and for the first time in many years this one memory sent him staggering, gasping for breath, until he fell against the blackened wall of the chamber and slid down it. It was like the air was running out, like he would never get free... the Staff of Magius' light went dark, and his magic left his fingers, leaving only cold dread behind. It didn't mater that it was dark, all he could see was the flames in his own mind--

There was no telling how long he remained there, no telling how many words spilled from his lips as he shakily told the darkness the stories of his past he so rarely uttered. Illness, poverty, his parents' deaths, various betrayals and his almost-death by the flames... even his Test, and beyond. There was no telling how much was said, it was all a blur, and then...

Suddenly...

The door beside him slid open again as though of its own accord, something humming and electric in the air that he hadn't noticed in his memory-fog dying down, going quiet.

Atop the Staff of Magius, the crystal flickered back to life, as a candle almost-snuffed finally consuming the air again. Raistlin looked up, unaware that his head had bowed and that his face was streaked with tears. Before him on the ash-strewn pedestal stood a stack of aged vellum, and a pair of long, wickedly-curved knives laid delicately atop it.

If this had been a test, it seemed that he had passed it. Raistlin stood, and gathered the vellum and the knives from within Grissom's ashes and then... paused for another moment, and reached for his spell components. The air around him seemed to tense, the humming almost returned -- but when he turned and left, the door sliding shut behind him, all that was left on the pedestal was ashes and rose-petals, scattered there carefully by his own hand.

* * *

Upon re-entering Akara's room, Raistlin set his staff aside to better hold the heavy stack of parchment in both arms, the knives still carefully balanced atop them. He looked to Akara as he set them down on an end-table, finding that the thief had kicked the blankets off entirely and now sprawled half on her stomach, half on her good side, her eyes half-open and her breath still too fast. But her temperature was improving, he found when he placed a hand on her forehead, and those half-open eyes were finally losing their glazed, feverish quality.

Raistlin spared a glance for the empty chair by the fire, where he would normally have gone to study, and then moved to climb onto the bed instead, kicking off his boots. He sat against the headboard beside Akara, his hand settling on her hair for a moment before he nudged the sleeping woman closer, letting her use his thigh as a pillow to spare her neck. It just seemed... better to be close, after that ordeal. Settled in, he reached to the table by the bed and took up the stack of vellum, drawing it over so that he could begin to read Grissom Krinir's cramped, aged handwriting, the dead thief's only living relative sleeping much more soundly with the archmage near.

Feeling some of the chill of that fire-blackened room leech out of him, finally, Raistlin began to read.

* * *

Akara woke up, this time completely. The blue smoke was gone from her sight, and she turned her head to look up at the ash-smeared mage, his black robes powdered white in places. She raised her one free hand, touching the dust, brow furrowing. For his own part, Raistlin had fallen asleep, his head dropped forward, one hand on her hair and the other holding a piece of aged vellum. Something had obviously happened while she had been dreaming of...

Her eyes settled on the pair of curved knives on the table, the plain metal pommels were ringed perfectly to slip a thin rope through, the braided leather wrap of their grips barely looked any older than they had in her dreams. One would barely know by looking at them, how much blood stained that leather, how wickedly sharp the edges contained in plain leather sheaths were. But she knew, she knew. When she looked back up at Raistlin, he was awake and watching her steadily.

"Grissom Krinir," he murmured to her, "was more than just a thief. The reason your family never spoke of him is... he was..."

"A killer." Akara's voice was still hoarse, she wondered dimly if it would ever recover or if she would always sound like a match to his own. Surely the damage wasn't so extensive as that? "A thief who used his skills to kill the mages who ruled Krontis." When he looked startled, she added quietly, "My dreams have been fogged in blue smoke all night. I've lived a hundred deaths, felt the blood on my hands, never uttered a word -- he counted heartbeats just as I do when I steal, but he stole something else entirely from those people."

"They deserved it," Raistlin's eyes gleamed, and he held up the parchment in his hand. "He wrote his story, though it has been very difficult to read it. The vellum is very, very old and the ink has faded to near-invisibility, but I have been able to get the... general idea so far."

"Where did you get those?" But when she reached out over his lap with her free hand, it was toward the knives, not the papers. Hesitating only briefly, Raistlin set the page down and lifted one knife, offering it pommel-first, watching as her hand slightly shook as she took it. She swallowed, feeling its weight, holding it inexpertly and then pulling it close. Tangible, physical proof that her rogue, legendary relative had been _real_. Those dreams had been real. Akara felt ill.

"I met him," Raistlin murmured, "his ghost still walks this world." Akara felt her eyes widen and her breath catch in alarm. She'd seen Grissom's ways of dealing with mages! These knives, then -- had he had them turned on him?

"Did you two fight?" she asked, trying to sit up. Raistlin kept her down with barely any effort, his hand on her head exerting just enough pressure. He shook his head. "Don't cast around him," Akara gasped, "if he comes back, don't cast _anything_! There's rumors... there's rumors of decapitations, still, of mages found with their tongues cut out, though... though that wasn't really his style, come to think of it," Akara turned thoughtful, "I've... I've seen it now, he did things neat and quick and clean, no sawing through a-anything," Moons, now she felt _ill_, "no torture. Just like a thief... in, done, and out..."

"Shh," Raistlin stroked her hair, "I think he and I have reached an... understanding. There was danger, for a while, but... I was allowed to walk away with his story and his weapons, unharmed." Akara just shivered, curling closer to him on the bed, her hand clutching the knife.

"He'd better not be hoping for a replacement," she said weakly, "I'm a total wuss!"

"I highly doubt that he hopes any such thing for you," the mage murmured, and lifted the page he'd fallen asleep over, replacing it on the stack. "Grissom Krinir was used. Used for his stealth, for the secrets he saw and heard between heartbeats as a thief... and when they needed him no longer, they held him down and removed his tongue, branded him as chattle, and gave him away. Him and his sister both." Akara looked up, staring at Raistlin as he continued, his voice hardening, "You refuse to call me 'Raistlin' because you are not a mage; because those in this city who are not magi are second-class citizens!"

The thief stared at him, a sinking feeling in her gut as he coughed into his hand, bowing over her head with the force of it. She squirmed out from under his other hand while he was preoccupied with trying desperately to breathe, and got out of the bed. Akara padded silently -- unsteadily -- over to the fire and the kettle always kept full in it, pouring hot water into a mug reserved for him, throwing in the right amount of his strange herbs. This was harder than ever with only one hand, forcing her to set the cup on the floor to do anything to it, then picking it up after. She carried it back, though the world tried to slant sideways more than once, and held it out to him.

Raistlin took it with one hand and her wrist with the other, sipped at the tea and then set it aside. He pulled her back onto the bed before she could fall. "Your great great grandmother was Grissom's sister," he continued mercilessly, "neither of them were mages, she was married off as early as you almost were. Grissom was sent along as a... bonus," he sneered, "to the man who claimed his sister. The Conclave of the time... was responsible for this. This is why Grissom became a killer, why he sought out the highest-ranking mages of Krontis, spilled their blood in the street... the highest ranking of the corrupt mage families was almost wiped out entirely, save for one survivor."

"Shut up," Akara finally whispered, pulled nearly into his lap, off-balance without her other hand to catch her. She slumped against his shoulder. "I don't want to hear more!"

Raistlin's grip on her wrist remained, his thumb tracing the bumpy scars left by his teeth on one side. "Call me 'Raistlin'," he whispered, "say it and I will stop... for now. But you must learn it all eventually." When Akara remained silent, he pulled impatiently on her wrist, "Say it! What do you care of _their rules_, Akara? Call me by my given name, here in private at _least_!"

"...It's just hard," the thief's hoarse voice was quiet even to her own ears, "it's just really hard!" Louder, though Akara's throat hurt, and she looked him in the eye. "Get told to do something one way all your life and then try to do it the other way... it's really really hard!"

"Please," the archmage murmured, "at least once in a while, in private, call me by my first name. _Try_." It was very important to him, she could tell, now that he knew some of Krontis' dark history. The way things had been done back then was a bit... worse than how things were done now, in part thanks to her relative's actions, but it obviously still really bothered him. Akara swallowed.

"I'll try, once in a while," she agreed in a small voice, and heard his breath catch and hold. Was it really _this_ important, that he would hold his breath for it? "...Raistlin." Akara's captured hand twitched as the name left her lips, and she held her own breath, staring almost defiantly into those strange golden eyes. _Go ahead,_ she thought, _change your mind, see if I care!_

But Raistlin didn't do any such thing, he only smiled faintly and then nodded once at her. "You see?" he asked almost wistfully, "Not so difficult, after all."

"Yeah, well," Akara's face warmed as she pulled her wrist free of his loosened grip and moved to sprawl out beside him, the pain in her shoulder sharpening every time she moved in the least bit wrong. She took up the knife again, inspecting it closer as he lifted his tea in one hand and the vellum in the other, continuing his study of _her_ bloodline. _I suppose,_ she thought to herself, resigned, _that it's just too much of a mystery for him to leave alone, especially now!_

Perhaps she knew him better now than she realized... or perhaps she didn't at all. Only time would tell.

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
**Review-replies can be found at AroWrites dot Net**


	22. The Same Old New Game

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 12.27.2009:

Aroihkin wanders onto the stage, holding something behind her back. She looks furtively one way, then the other, as though the audience doesn't exist, and then produces a coiled up flag. "I'll just leave this right here," she says to herself with a smirk, planting the flag in center-stage, and then tip-toeing off.

When the flag unfurls, all it says on it is "Warning: Citrus!" with a smiley face at the end. Oh dear...

(There's another smaller author's note at the end of the chapter, beneath the disclaimer! :D)

_Youth is beauty, money is beauty -- hell, beauty is beauty, sometimes!  
It's the luck of the draw, it's the natural law, it's a joke... it's a crime.  
I was bored, and, you were bored, it was a meeting of the minds,  
And now it's three in the afternoon and I can't leave too soon,  
Saying "thank you, I had a nice... time."  
-- Ani DiFranco - Cradle And All_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
**TAF: Face to Face**  
The Same Old New Game

Jones came by in the early evenings to check on her injuries. Akara held still while her neck was unwrapped, Raistlin holding her hair up out of the way while the damage was inspected by both the mage and the doctor. They dabbed cloth soaked in sharp-smelling herbs into the open wounds, and the thief always held her breath to keep from making any telling noises. The cloth usually came away bloody, she noticed. She didn't find it very surprising.

Once her throat was encased in bandages once again, Raistlin would smooth her hair down and go to talk with Jones in quiet, secretive tones. Akara usually just curled up on her good side again and tried to ignore it all, feeling incredibly trapped. She couldn't fight and she wasn't a mage; being reduced to _this_ was almost too much! Just walking across the room was a hassle like it had never been before, her balance thrown way off and her limbs barely responding under the drug haze, her bandaged arm cramping in its restraints. It was better, perhaps, to just sleep.

So that was what she did. Days went by, a week, a week and a half... her routine was one cloaked in the fog of too much sleep, too much blood loss, too much fever, and too many drugs. Raistlin was always there when she woke up, however, usually with soup or tea ready to push at her, and occasionally a sardonic comment about how it was a good thing she hadn't managed to pick up the plague as well, while she was at it.

Raistlin was always there when she woke up, until this time. She wasn't worried, though, the archmage couldn't -- and really shouldn't -- be stuck in this room at all hours. Akara had lived on her own since leaving the Krinir house as a kid, she could take care of herself!

Weeks had gone by since the night of Tannusen's death and her injuries, but she wasn't sure how many. Two? Three? It was too hard to keep track when she spent almost all of her time in a medicated slumber. Slowly, Akara pushed herself up with her unbound arm, and then held her head in her hand as it felt, suddenly, like a dozen angry dwarves were hammering at her skull.

She stared, numbly surprised, at the black saddlebags beside hers, at the black cloak hanging beside the fire, at more long, black clothing visible through the open closet door. Raistlin's stuff was certainly... distinctive. Had he moved into her room? _Though if he's been keeping _that_ close of an eye on me, it makes sense,_ she realized, still surprised despite the logic of it, and spent another few moments cradling her head before she moved to weakly shove the blankets off herself and swing her legs over the edge of the bed.

Akara had done this a lot in the last few weeks, of course, but usually only to toddle off a few feet into the bathing room, and the even smaller chamber beyond it. Raistlin often had to help her get that far, at least, waiting beside the bathing tub until she re-opened the door again, pale and shaking. She remembered hearing of how he'd helped care for all of Solace when the plague had hit the town, back when she had originally dug around for any scraps of rumor about him in Palanthas, and she could easily believe it now.

Well, he wasn't here now, but she could handle it! She'd just go over to her bags and -- Akara stood up shakily and took a half a dozen steps before her knees gave out, and the pain of her shoulder at the sudden drop was sharp enough to send lights off behind her eyelids, even through the drugs muddling her senses. "Crap," she gasped against the rug, "crap, crap, shit, crap..." Not her most _imaginative_ mantra, but hey. The thief pushed herself up onto her elbow, then her knees, and once the world stopped spinning the wrong way she shuffled forward awkwardly until she'd reached her bags.

Raistlin's sat beside hers, the black leather gleaming invitingly in the firelight. The scroll-case she reached for, however, wasn't his -- it was the one she'd brought from her room in the _Golden Hourglass_, and hadn't opened since hitting Krontis. Akara sat up, fumbling with the buckle holding one end shut, popping it open and pouring out the contents on the floor. Rolled vellum of different sizes and shapes tumbled out, some of them covered in lines and shades and some of them still blank.

She snagged a blank page and pulled it free, pinning it awkwardly with the end of a black leather bag at the top and her sock-covered foot at the bottom. Next, she reached across for one of her bags, pulling a small wooden case out and flipping open the top. Drawing sticks. This invalid thing was driving her nuts, she couldn't run around being a lunatic, couldn't climb anything, couldn't even leave the room, and sleeping at all hours of the night and day was finally getting to be more annoying than helpful as her condition improved.

So she did all that was really left to her, other than stare at the knives or read the words she didn't want to deal with; she drew. Sketched, really -- a rain-strewn rooftop, a lopsided smile belonging to a now-dead man, a pair of long-fingered hands holding bloodied bandages...

Voices outside the door drew her attention some time later, and Akara looked up. A woman's coy giggle, a man's murmured response... and then, finally, a soft bump against the door. Akara's brow furrowed, the voices carrying easier through the door with the proximity, at least one of the speakers obviously leaning against the wood. "...You should really shop around a bit more, Raistlin," Victoria's breathless voice made Akara's blood go cold, and she held her breath. "You may even find a dance partner who _doesn't_ make you play nanny to them..."

Raistlin's soft, similarly-breathless laugh was unmistakable, "Perhaps... you should make some suggestions, my lady. Someone like... yourself, only unmarried..."

"You flatterer!" Victoria's voice was accompanied by the sound of sliding cloth, and then, "Harold doesn't mind, we both have our... hobbies." More cloth. "Oh, my, Raistlin... is something bothering you?" Akara could barely hear the rest of the words over the blood roaring in her ears, she stared blankly at the image of a delicate collar-bone and slender neck in the center of the page. "Normally the men I pin against walls are _hard_ by now, but you never are whenever I... check."

"Simple exhaustion, my lady," Raistlin's raspy voice sounded sly, heated, "it should pass once my time is my own again."

"See to it that it does," Victoria crooned, "I would hate for you to go to... waste." And then silence. Akara stared at the drawing, her hand shaking, as the door was opened a few moments later, Raistlin stepping in and closing the door behind him before he noticed that Akara was not only awake, but near enough to the door to have _easily_ heard.

Nothing was said for a few moments, the black-robe standing silently, watching the thief stare down at the parchment. The drawing stick in her hand finally snapped. "It's none of my business," she said after opening her hand to stare at the broken halves, "it's none of my _fucking business..._ but if you're going to get yourself groped by _Victoria Krinir_ of all people, then -- don't come near me!" The last was snapped louder, her voice cracking, as he stepped closer. Akara listened as Raistlin then turned away, the whisper of his robes moving to the closet, where he proceeded to change his robe out for one that he hadn't been groped through.

She kept her eyes down, on the paper, and then shoved the parchment away and stared at the floor instead. _Fuck_, her shoulder hurt.

When Raistlin stepped nearer again, Akara held up the broken ends of the drawing stick threateningly. He kept coming, however, stopping only when the hem of his robes brushed her arm, then lowered himself with the help of his staff to sit on the floor by her. "You promised," he murmured softly, "to not hate me."

"I _don't_ hate you," Akara dropped her hand with the broken stick, since the threat had been ignored anyway. She hardly had the strength to spare trying to stab someone with it at this point, let alone through layers of thick velvet and wool. "I couldn't. I just think your taste in women is pretty shitty, Majere. Pick someone who isn't going to stab you in the back if you want someone fondling you up against a door!"

"Perhaps someone more like... you?" Raistlin asked, sounding as he had in the hallway. Cunning, sly, devious... mocking? She couldn't tell who it was aimed at, though.

Akara's head jerked up and she looked over at him so fast it wrenched her shoulder. He was watching her with a cruel little smile on his thin lips. "Pretty desperate, aren't you? Flirting even with a beat-up reject like me?" she demanded, "It's none of my business who you fuck around with, I don't have any claim to you anyway! Just try not to pick people who've had my friends killed while trying to kill me! Is that really that difficult? Hey, I know -- if it _is_ too hard, then maybe you can just try not to get wall-humped by them within earshot, how's that? Still too hard? Though from the sounds of it," the words poured out of her without inhibition, betrayal and anger mixing potently with the painkillers, and she said things she normally would _never_ have said; "maybe too _soft_ is more accura--"

She yelped in pain as her hair was grabbed and she was pulled backwards to the floor, her shoulder wrenching with what she could have _sworn_ was bone-on-bone grating. It left her dazed for a moment, her vision stuttering. When it cleared, Akara was looking up at Raistlin, who braced one hand on either side of her head, leaning over her, "You sound like me," he murmured with surprising calm, for all the anger that flashed in his eyes.

The thief glared up at him, "Fuck off, Majere!"

Raistlin smirked again, mockingly, and lifted one slender hand to tangle in her hair on the floor, "Perhaps I should. Your step-mother is a very... persuasive woman..."

"If I had both hands, I'd_--!_" But Akara was cut off as Raistlin lowered his head unexpectedly and sealed his lips over hers, his tongue stabbing inwards to caress against hers boldly. Akara went still, her clenched hand on the floor relaxing and much of the tension still hurting her shoulder draining out of her frame. It was hard to concentrate on much of anything, suddenly...

It took a very long time for the mage to pull back again, his lungs apparently being cooperative just now. His breathing was ragged, but he only coughed a little into his sleeve, rather than exploding into a fit. Raistlin's eyes gleamed with something else, now... joyful giddiness, like Akara felt after a good chase from some rich bastard's guards. The thief stared dazedly up at him, running her tongue over the roof of her mouth once. This was _so_ weird! "...What the fuck?" she finally managed after another several moments.

"I must apologize," Raistlin remained close, holding himself up on his elbows now, his face very near hers. And he did it again, this time the tip of his tongue stroking her bottom lip until she opened up to him, gasping shallowly for breath. "Although... I do not hear you... complaining," he murmured in between assaults, and one thin leg slid between hers as he repositioned himself, half over her, his long-fingered hands holding the sides of her face.

Akara tangled her own hand in his hair, yanking sharply at it to make him pull back just a little so she could breathe. Eerie golden eyes were slightly glazed as they raked over her features, the sting at his scalp only making the heat there burn hotter. The thief gulped, but her grip on his hair only tightened, and the heat only blazed stronger. "Crap," she gasped out, eloquent as always, and _forced_ his head to tip up and back further yet, watching his pulse beat fast and hard against the golden skin of his slender neck. It only sped up as she watched, like a frightened bird.

Without even realizing what she was doing, Akara leaned up as best as she could without the support of an arm, and tasted that pulse. His ragged gasp encouraged her, as did the pleasantly electric thrum of magic she could feel just beneath his skin, and she sealed her lips against him, sucking at that pulse-point hard enough to leave a mark, completely at odds with their position. Fitfully, she shifted her legs, wrapping her strong thighs around his much thinner one and pulling _down_ -- Raistlin obligingly collapsed onto her, the startled moan wrenched from his lips felt through his throat as much as heard.

Her own matched his when he shifted fitfully, his thigh pressing hard up against her through her pants, her hip... _oh_. Oh. Distracted, she released his neck, and his hair, clinging to his bony shoulder instead as he ground down against her. So _that_ was... "M-Majere?" Akara sounded uncertain even to her own ears, "is that...?"

"It certainly is not... my hand," Raistlin rasped, his voice choked with something _other_ than illness as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, shifting his thigh up... some strange instinct guiding him to fit them together better, so they could both...! Akara's hips jerked up, rubbing hard against his leg, rubbing her hip up against--!

"F... fuck," she barely managed, her vision going all... fuzzy as she stared up at the ceiling. Her hand on his shoulder lowered, her fingertips digging hard into his back for leverage, feeling his ribs as his breathing picked up almost frantically, both of them shifting, rubbing, grinding...

"Almost..." Raistlin barely managed to gasp out against her neck, his fingers digging painfully into her shoulders, forcing her to reach up and drag one hand off of the bandaged one, which obligingly re-settled at her waist, "we almost... almost _are_..." his breath was furnace-hot against her neck, the words shaky as their fitful shifting finally found a _rhythm_ to follow, "almost fucking..."

Akara shifted still, her thighs parting, wishing her clothing wasn't _quite_ so thick and sturdy; wishing Raistlin's wasn't either. He wore so many layers! The trembling muscle of his leg was barely more than featureless pressure, although even so, there was still that intense _heat_. His breath against her neck hitched, caught, his hips stuttering -- she suddenly grabbed at gray-white hair again, yanking his head back so she could see his _face_, golden skin gleaming with exertion, blazing eyes mere slits, his mouth half open as his hips jerked _hard_--!

And then they slowed, almost suddenly, his trembling form relaxing, golden eyes opening to look down at her and a soft, almost impossible smile touching his thin lips. "Almost," he murmured as she let go of his hair, squirming uncomfortably under him. Raistlin finally relaxed against her, lowering his head to her shoulder, his breath rattling alarmingly in his lungs as he recovered, the thief's almost-writhing slowly ceasing as the moments passed, though her heart wouldn't stop pounding and she still felt -- she still _needed_...

Hot, blazingly hot fingertips slid down between them, stroking almost leisurely where his thigh pressed, finding the spot that made her breath hitch and pressing insistently there, rubbing. Akara almost jumped out of her skin, though her body knew what it wanted and pushed back just as insistently, thighs parting. Her free arm flew around his thin shoulders in a half-embrace, her own fingers digging into thick velvet. "What--?!"

"Merely returning the favor, my dear lady," he rasped against her neck, smug and satisfied all in one. Clever fingers found what made her hips stutter up against him the hardest, learning as quickly as he learned a new spell; a circular rub here... a straight one there... a flick of his short nails through the rough cloth... the rough, slightly damp cloth. "Say my name," Raistlin ordered as her breath caught, her fingers dug harder into his shoulder, everything winding up tight... "_say it!_"

"R-Raistlin..." she gasped, stomach tightening, hips lifting, everything tensing--! Akara found the mage staring at her face, his free hand clenched in her hair much as she'd done to him.

"Again," he whispered, feverish, hourglass eyes seeming to bore straight into her. "Say it again!"

"Rai... Raistlin!" Akara barely, _barely_ managed to get the word out, as everything wound up and shattered and her legs clenched up around his hand and his thigh, her spine _jerking_ once, twice...! And then... everything slowed back down, dimmed, the hand below had smoothed, his palm resting over flesh that twitched faintly under her clothing. Her face _flamed_, and she shut her eyes tight, not wanting to look at him. It was too embarrassing! Like the time in the rain when he'd...

The hand slid away, though his thigh remained. Thin, dry lips brushed against her closed eyelids, first one and then the other, panting just as hard as she was against them, prompting her to blink them back open again. Raistlin didn't look disdainful, though he definitely looked incredibly _smug_ as he smirked down at her, a sweat-dampened lock of his gray-white hair straggling into his eyes. "That... that was the first time a woman has _ever_... and at my hand, with my name on her lips...!" he pressed an almost-desperate kiss to her forehead, his lips searingly hot, his breath a rattling wheeze between his words, "...I--"

"Sh-shut up," Akara stammered, but relaxed under him regardless, her arm around his shoulders loosening but not sliding away. The room filled with their harsh breathing, slowly catching their breaths. He'd recovered in between, but apparently getting _her_ off had been enough to... she shut that thought down fast, face heating again. Raistlin Majere had gotten her... and she'd gotten _him_...! "All the girls who looked at you funny were stupid," she muttered darkly, "there's nothing fucking _wrong_ with _you_."

His astonished stare was enough to make her pull his head down onto her good shoulder again, so she wouldn't have to feel the disbelief in that _look_. It wasn't her fault if everyone else was stupid! But still, he seemed too astonished for words, so she added grumpily, "Well, nothing wrong with you _physically_ anyway. You're kinda nuts sometimes," she was well aware that this was from one lunatic to another, and apparently so was he -- he began to laugh, very tiredly.

Maybe this would work out okay, after all. Whatever _it_ was.

"I wonder," Raistlin remarked slyly, interrupting her thoughts, "do we all make such amusing expressions when we..."

"Sh... shut up!"

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
**Review-replies can be found at AroWrites dot Net**

**Extended A/N:** The 22nd chapter of the 4th story; I figured it was about time _something_ was allowed to happen. Hope everyone likes it, it's the first hetero citrus I've ever put in a fanfic... ^^;;;


	23. Hand On Heart

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 12.30.2009:

This one took a little longer than usual so far because it was really hard to figure out what Raistlin might say or do in this situation. It's not something there's any real direct analogue for in the books, especially after six years of fanfic plot to color things... anyway, some moments are harder than others. I tend to write with plot-points in mind, but mostly let the characters do as they like to string the points together, but even when they do as they like it can be hard to word just right. I hope it came out well. :)

We'll get some more Raistlin-perspective in the next chapter, and see some of what he's been up to off-camera.

_Another night, another day goes by,  
I never stop myself to wonder why  
You helped me forget to play my role...  
You take my self; you take my self control  
-- Infernal (cover) - Self Control_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
**TAF: Face to Face**  
Hand On Heart

"There _is_ something I have been meaning to ask you about," Raistlin's quiet voice carried easily across the room as Akara settled weakly onto the bed, her shoulder making every little movement an anguish now. Obviously their... activities had annoyed it. The mage had washed up and changed his clothing, she noticed with faint amusement, although... well... guys... uhm. There was more of a mess, wasn't there? If they didn't? Crap! She didn't know, why was she trying to figure it out _now_?

Akara rubbed her forehead and lay back against a pillow, trying to drive the question of why out of her head. She'd never paid much attention to these things before, her only drug had always been adrenalin; the heart-stopping hunt, the chase... although really, it was the same in a lot of ways, wasn't it? There was even danger, in a way, particularly if the one you did these things with wore _black_ robes. They didn't tend to live happily ever after, and neither did the people they touched. "...What?" Akara realized belatedly that she hadn't responded, and that he seemed to be waiting for her to do so.

"You have been sleeping in a proper bed since your... injury," the archmage noted, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed. All the better to study her response. "But before this, you refused. Why did you never use the proper furniture, and what is different now?"

"You're curious about stupid shit sometimes, Majere," Akara grumbled, "it's nothing dramatic or anything." Honestly, sometimes his burning need for knowledge went into the ridiculous! But when he kept staring expectantly, clearly waiting for the reason anyway, she sighed. "It's easier for me to roll up to my feet on the floor in a hurry than to tumble out of a bed," she held up one finger, "everyone who sneaks into a room at night always goes straight for the bed, they don't even notice if there's shit on the floor," a second finger, "if you're under the window and someone tries to sneak in, it's real easy to ruin their day," three fingers, and then she dropped her hand back to the bed again.

"And... I dunno. I slept on a tree-branch and then in a rope hammock since I left _this_ place," the thief added thoughtfully, "I didn't even do the floor thing until I went to Krynn. My paranoia aside, beds just seem... weird now. Like, who needs such a big squishy _platform_ just to sleep on? What a hassle! It's not like you pay any attention to it while you're asleep anyway!"

Raistlin was staring at her. Akara looked up. "What? Oh -- right, now. Well, _now_ my shoulder is all fucked up and my legs are all wobbly and my head hurts really _bad_ when I change height too fast, so I guess the bed's okay for now." When Raistlin continued to stare, the thief frowned at him. "_What?_"

"You have such an... _odd_ perspective on things, Akara." Raistlin shook his head faintly, still staring, a hint of a smirk tugging at his thin lips, "Truly."

"Yeah, well," Akara muttered, and looked away. "Gutter-trash street thieves don't _have_ to look at anything the same way as anyone else. There's a kind of freedom in being the sludge at the bottom of the barrel."

"You are hardly the bottom of the barrel," the archmage scoffed, and reached over to tap the stack of old vellum and the old dusty book on the table by the bed with one fingertip, "you are the only living remnant of the Krinir blood-line, those very people who you show deference to should be _afraid_ of you."

The way his tone sharpened and his eyes gleamed as he said it made Akara blink up at him. She felt her own eyes narrow. "Oh, is _that_ why you want me around, because you think I'm some kind of natural-born mage-killer?" Raistlin's answering sardonic smirk made her clench her hand into a fist. "Shouldn't _you_ be worried, then, _archmagus_? If it runs in the blood, maybe I'll go on a killing spree myself one of these days. What do you think of that, huh? I bet I'd be the first serial-killer to steal my victim's left socks for trophies..."

"I would be lying most grievously if I claimed your heritage was not a... bonus," Raistlin admitted easily, moving to pull the blankets up over her shoulders, "but I knew nothing of it when I followed you here. And..." he reached to brush her hair back from her forehead, his skin searingly, uncomfortably hot, "perhaps you are not the only one who enjoys the thrill of danger."

"...We're both freaks," Akara muttered, shutting her eyes so she wouldn't have to see his knowing smirk.

When she re-opened them some hours later, he was gone again. The thief stared up at the ceiling, dimly-lit by the fireplace. For whatever complaining he might be doing to her step-mother about her health, he never let the fire die down... at least, not while _she_ was sick. She still remembered vividly the night she'd burst out of hiding to catch him, the archmage so delirious with his illness that it had taken him several long seconds to notice he'd been touched at all, even as she'd lowered him to the floor and braced him up over his spilled books, finding him too heavy for her to just keep upright altogether. It hadn't been until she'd spoken that he'd whipped his head around, staring at her in shock.

The horrible sound his lungs had been making... Akara frowned up at the ceiling. Victoria Krinir would never rush to catch someone who was sick! Maybe he liked his women more... well, black-robed. _Like I should fucking care, it's the fact that it's _her_ that pisses me off so much!_ Akara sighed, aggravated, and then winced and snaked her hand up out from beneath the blankets to touch gingerly at her bandage-wrapped throat. Even sighing made it ache. "This is getting really fucking old," she grumbled to herself, and struggled her way out from under the heavy blankets, "and I haven't even gotten to see the damage yet!"

Well, she'd solve _that_ while conveniently alone; there was an expensive mirror in the bathing room. Akara got to her feet and snatched up one of the knives beside her to cut bandages with, walking unsteadily to the door and falling against it. She couldn't hear anything over the roaring in her ears for several long moments, and then she pushed the door open and staggered into the hot, steamy room.

Wait... hot and steamy? Akara looked up, startled.

The light in the room wasn't from the unlit candles or torches; it was a cold white light emanating from the top of a particular dragon-clawed staff leaning against the wall. It silvered the expensive porcelain of the tub; the surface of the hot water, and the gleaming golden skin of the man who relaxed in it with his slender arms on the edges, his eyes still glinting golden as he watched her walk in. Akara froze, feeling like she'd just swallowed her heart, the knife clattering to the stone floor. "Shit! Sorry! _Shit!_" The thief turned to flee the scene, albeit on very, very wobbly legs. Wobblier than a moment ago, the image of Raistlin Majere reclining in the almost-moonlight seared into her mind.

"Stop," he murmured, cutting straight through her panic, making her pause. "Come over here, Akara. I did not mean to wake you." Akara swallowed, feeling now like her heart was trying to come back _up_ her throat, and turned around, walking unsteadily over to him. The Staff of Magius' light shone on the surface of the water brightly enough that it hid everything below it, or most everything. A glimpse of a bare golden leg told her all she needed to know of his state of dress, and she tore her eyes off the water and upwards. His thin chest was above water -- he didn't fill the tub as full as she did, apparently -- and she saw blood-red claw-marks fresh on his skin.

"What happened?" Akara asked, blinking as he took her free hand and pulled her gently closer, the thief stopping when her legs touched the large basin's edge. "Something clawed the shit out of you." _Or someone,_ she realized belatedly, and felt her eyes narrow, "Do I want to know?"

"You do not," Raistlin smirked faintly, and let go of her hand, resting his head back against the edge of the tub to look up at her slyly, "However," he added almost conversationally, "a soak would help you recover. Although you cannot soak that shoulder, not until the bones have knit."

"Well, when you're done," Akara agreed readily enough, and grabbed the edge of the tub with her one hand as her wobbly legs almost gave out on her. Shit. Standing wasn't supposed to take _effort_! Her thoughts were de-railed when Raistlin reached up and tugged at a lace on her tunic, making the thief stare down at the mage. Mostly, he just looked... conniving, sneaky... the way he looked up through his eyelashes, the set of his thin lips in an almost-smirk... but she could see the slight tenseness around his mouth and eyes that he only had when he was waiting to go on the defensive. "...What are you doing?" she asked, careful not to sound too accusing. That she was getting very, very good at reading him -- at least, when he was being open -- never even occurred to her.

"I would... very much like it if you would join me, my lady thief," whispered the mage, "as you bade _me_ to do, once before. I will even remove your bandages..." Raistlin's gaze flickered to the knife on the floor, obviously guessing what her intent had been, and he added slyly, "...if you will allow me to undress you first." Golden eyes went back to her face, and held there, studying, watching for her reaction as his nimble fingers worked heedlessly on unlacing the neck of her shirt. Since most of her upper body was wrapped beneath it to keep her arm and thus her shoulder completely immobile, this wasn't that big of a deal. Her left sleeve was just hanging empty, even, the arm folded up like a wing against the side of her chest beneath the cloth.

_But it _will_ be a big deal if he takes the bandages off,_ she thought, eyes widening, and she knew it had been visible when his thin lips twisted into a smirk. "I would have you join me," repeated the mage, hypnotically. He sat up, both hands reaching for the laces at her waist, his soft voice thoughtful, "However, I must admit that I have never done _this_ before, either."

"D-done what?" Akara mentally cursed her suddenly-shaky voice. She held still, though, her hand staying on the rounded porcelain lip of the basin. The thief wanted desperately to shove his hands away and to run from the room... but she also wanted desperately to climb in; her reasons mixed and jumbled. The hot water _did_ sound good, her entire body was an ache between her myriad of bruises and cuts and her illness, and she knew how warm _he_ was... and... of course, there was the matter of _his_ state of undress. Was the water hotter than normal, with him in it, or did she just imagine that it was?

"I have never removed a woman's clothing, other than for medicine," Raistlin's soft voice sounded faintly melancholy, distracted, "nor have I ever bathed nude with a woman... the things that most men experience when they are barely more than boys," and then he sneered, his hands stilling for a moment. "I have never been as other men, but..." the mage toyed with the ties thoughtfully, "...but." To say he seemed conflicted would be an understatement, Akara watched the interplay of emotions flicker across his face, some too fast to figure out before they changed again. Loathing, aggravation, longing...

"I've... never done this shit either," Akara muttered, "never really wanted to." _Before._ She glanced down at his hands, which suddenly trembled slightly, then back at his face, which seemed oddly... open, his eyes seemed larger than usual with the odd expression he wore. Bewilderment. Did he think he was the only one around who never got to do these things, or did he think she couldn't figure out what it was that he meant? Both, perhaps.

"Truly?" whispered Raistlin, one hand sliding away from the ties and going to her hip. The one he'd... gotten so acquainted with through her clothing earlier. Akara felt herself flush darkly, but she nodded anyway, looking aside. If it helped him, knowing that she was just as clueless, then why not tell him?

"Never even... you know," Akara studied the wall, embarrassed, "k-kissed, until you did it. It never really appealed 'till _you_ did it. Guess I was too busy being a thief an' shit. Never... so I guess you're still not like other men, because they either paw at me like a prize horse, or they don't even see me--" Akara's breath hitched as his hands resumed working to tug her trousers down to her thighs, his touch hesitant as he settled one slender hand back onto her now-bare hip, up underneath her long tunic, and then slid it around behind her. She sucked in a breath as he stroked his warm hand over soft, pale flesh. "...T-that's really not _fair_, you know," she managed to drum up some indignation, "petting me when I haven't even _seen_ you!"

"_See_ what you wish," Raistlin whispered intently, his hand stroking down over her thigh as he tugged the bit of clothing in his hand down further, "_pet_ what you wish," he wormed his slender fingers between her closed knees, sliding up... "This shattered body is of no consequence to _me_, but do as you wish to it and I _will_ return the favor, that much I promise." Akara didn't even realize she was holding her breath until he removed his hand, just shy of reaching the top of her legs. Her breath came out in a shudder.

The rough cloth pooled at her ankles, and she stepped out of it while keeping her thighs self-consciously together, then frowned as he settled back against the end of the tub, lifting her hand from the edge into his, as though to dance, his strange eyes glittering in the cold light from the staff. She was acutely conscious of how the silver light made the pale skin of her bare legs almost corpse-like, at least in her own opinion, the tint seeming unnaturally, ghastly white. "_I_ see you," the archmage rasped, wry amusement quirking his lips, "and you are certainly no horse."

"S-see," Akara managed nervously as she tried to hold his eyes with hers and stepped over the edge of the giant basin, her balance supported by his hold on her hand. "You can tell livestock from human girls, so you're really not like other guys!" The words drew a sardonic smirk from him, and she immediately crouched down into the water once both feet were in, hiding her bare skin under the surface. She was startled into a gasp, however, when his bony knees brushed her hips as he shifted. Their positions were utterly reversed from the last time they'd been in here, only she was losing her clothes anyway. Still, the fact that he'd let her step right _between_ his legs made her face heat. That had to be personal for a guy too, surely?

Indeed, she noticed that his knees lingered against her skin in the suddenly-crowded water, and she couldn't be completely sure in the silvery-white light from the staff, but... his face looked like it might be a little darker than before. A blush? Akara blinked as he released her hand and went to pull her loosened tunic over her head with both of his hands, the thief thrown off-balance without her other arm to catch her. She simply fell back onto her rear, hissing in a sharp breath as her shoulder was jarred, seeing nothing but white stars for a moment.

When her vision cleared, she saw only dark hourglasses, Raistlin leaning close and holding her chin. He'd done this before, recently, checking her pupils for some reason she hadn't quite understood. Something about a possible head injury... "You sure we can even take this off yet?" she gasped, because it still _hurt_! And, "...I really fucked it up good, didn't I?"

"If you take care to not move your arm more than absolutely necessary," Raistlin said with a small nod, "I believe this will do it more good than harm. Here," and he released her chin, but she kept it tipped up out of the way as he started unwinding the wrappings around her neck. The heat of the previous moments was already forgotten in the haze of pain and the promise of getting to at least straighten her arm out for the first time in weeks. It was going to be completely wimpy by the time she got full use of it back! As though reading her mind, Raistlin added, "You will at least be able to soak your arm, if not your shoulder. We can wrap it in a different position now, perhaps... and in a month's time, you should be able to use a sling."

"That would be good," Akara hissed as he gingerly touched her elbow through the bandages, supporting it as he undid intricate knots in the bandage-work with his free hand that she would have had to cut. "How badly did I fuck it up?" she'd noticed when he hadn't replied to that bit! A glance down at the now mostly-bare skin of her shoulder made her feel the blood drain from her face. Several long rows of neat and tiny stitches lined where broken shards of bone had penetrated out through the skin. Jones had had to do minor surgery on her, from the looks of things. Probably with those little metal rods she was fond of keeping bones together with. Akara swallowed bile.

"...Fairly," Raistlin murmured, "but the lasting damage should be minimal if we are careful with it. A cleric of Paladine could undoubtedly heal it entirely for you, but... there are none in Krontis." Akara nodded faintly at that when he looked at her almost questioningly, as though to make sure he had the facts right. The re-kindling of faith in the old gods was unlikely to penetrate Krontis society, between the limits on newcomers and the variety of worlds and cultures. Clearly the gods of Krynn had access to the place, else the old man would never have woken her up by beating on her tree with his staff all those years ago, but... Krontis was a different world in so many ways.

"Rest back against me, as I did with you," the archmage interrupted her thoughts, and her horrified staring at her shoulder, tugging at her to turn around when the bandage was half off. Akara had actually _forgotten_ about their predicament, and she stared at his bare skin, her face heating. Still, Raistlin's hands coaxed her into doing what he wanted anyway, though she about swallowed her own tongue when he reached below the water to place a hand on her stomach and pull her right up against him, sliding intimately between his legs. "To keep your shoulder above water," he murmured.

"That... that's not your hand again, is it," Akara commented without thinking of the pressure against her rear. Raistlin's answering laugh was very faint; the sound decidedly self-mocking, and he went back to unwrapping her bandages. Apparently that didn't really _need_ an answer... and his breath caught suspiciously when his hand brushed the bare side of her breast, previously bound up in gauze. Akara's did too, but for completely different reasons as her arm was finally released and she gingerly tried to straighten it. "Crap! That really fucking hurts!" The muscles were tense, cramped, not wanting to unlock, and she could tell that it was only his fingers on her elbow that kept the whole thing from dropping straight down and making her shoulder a white-hot mess of agony. "You sure this was a good idea?"

"Trust me," Raistlin breathed into her good shoulder, his other arm encircling her slowly, resting atop her chest -- so that he could reach her bicep and gently dig his too-warm fingertips into the muscle, massaging carefully. "As you may have realized, this will need some work when it is ready to be used again," he murmured, "but even this is still better than losing the use of it entirely. Now, lay back," and he reached up to just below her throat and pulled her back up against him. Akara gulped, caught between the intimacy of the moment and the pain of her arm. Although, that later one _was_ starting to become less of an issue as he went back to massaging it. It slowly unlocked, letting her arm straighten incrementally into the welcoming hot water. Akara shut her eyes and relaxed as the tightly-wound pain finally began to ease.

She let her head roll back against his bony shoulder, completely at a loss. They were, for the very first time, both nude -- _skin on skin_, no less -- but other than the expected unease she found she wasn't bothered by this nearly as much as she would have thought. He _was_ very warm, like a furnace, his skin just like the too-hot bricks inside a fireplace. She could feel that he was bony and sharp enough to make her own lean frame seem quite cushioned by comparison. Especially, of course, where her curves came in -- Akara had seen how she was looked at when men noticed she existed, even with her plain linen clothing, and she could have been a well-paid barmaid as a result. Just add a low-cut blouse, and...

_Or, you know, nudity and water. Instant awkwardness!_ Akara resisted the urge to clamp her free arm down over herself, if mostly because one of Raistlin's thin arms circled beneath the 'problems' already, to keep her from slipping too far into the water. Convenient. She could feel the heat of his forearm against her ribs and she resisted the urge to squirm uncomfortably. Who _wouldn't_ find the whole situation almost unbearably awkward? They half-floated! Well, maybe a more experienced woman wouldn't, one who was _used_ to--

"Fear not," Raistlin breathed, cutting into her nearly frantic thoughts, and she realized he could feel her rapid heartbeat easily, "I will not risk aggravating your injury by attempting to coax anything... recreational from you. At least," his tone lowered further, intimate, "not while you are like this. You may relax, my dear thief," and though she could feel his eyes lingering still, he did not move to act on whatever impulse made his own breathing pick up slightly as he stared over her shoulder.

Akara reached aside with her good arm and took up his free hand under the water, squeezing the delicate fingers gently. "You really aren't like other men, you know," she managed, because that seemed important to him, although she had to add -- "...even when you're creepy." Surely it was his creepiness that gave her goosebumps now, right? Right!

That earned her the wry chuckle she'd hoped for, the tense hand in hers relaxing, strange golden eyes closing. For all that he was _acting_ smooth, the thief could tell that Raistlin's nerves had him about ready to jump out of his skin, just the same as hers. It was hard to hide the tenseness in his frame while she was pressed back against it, after all, or the way his breath tried to rattle into a stress-induced cough...

The silence went on for a while, until her left arm finally hurt hardly at all where she let it half-float in the hot water, trying to keep it relaxed. This was _nice_, suddenly, more than it was awkward, so she continued her thought, "...You've been taking really good care of me while I've been fucked up," Akara frowned faintly, "even though I know it's a pain. You don't have to, you know... I can take care of myself, too." The last was said hurriedly, remembering overheard comments about him being forced to 'nanny' her.

Raistlin said nothing at first, and then sighed as though she had ruined a nice moment. "Akara," he murmured, "allow me the satisfaction of nursing a young woman back to health who I do _not_ see as a decaying corpse, and who will not, in one month's time, be whispering furtively behind my back of my 'witchcraft'."

"Oh... ah," Akara blinked; she hadn't thought of that, "good point, I guess."

Raistlin's voice sharpened, "I would not do it if I did not _want_ to, Akara. You need not tell me what is necessary and what is not. And... sometimes," his quiet rasp softened again, "it is... nice to be needed, rather than always being the one in need. You have aided me when I was ill in the past, is it not only fair that I return the favor?"

It wasn't precisely an answer to the doubts she held from that over-heard conversation, but Akara nodded anyway. Still, the words bothered her, as did the nail-scratches she had seen on his chest. What game _was_ he playing? And he'd only washed up and changed a few hours ago, and yet here he was in the bath. But... it was hard to think too much about it, while the situation was so strangely pleasant, so the thief just nodded. "...Okay, then. Thank you," she murmured, and felt some of the tension she hadn't known she'd been holding finally start to drain out of her.

"You are quite welcome," Raistlin sounded faintly amused at her plight, the side of his head resting against hers companionably. "Besides," he added thoughtfully, his gaze settling again on the rounded, pale skin that surfaced above the water, making her face heat when she glanced aside and tracked his stare, "good deeds occasionally have their own rewards..."

She swallowed. He _was_ still an evil black-robe, wasn't he? Sometimes she could forget. But the mage merely offered her a thin-lipped smile, looking aside at her wide-eyed expression, and then very _deliberately_ closed his eyes again while Akara watched. There. _That_ was better. "...Why would you steal the _left_ sock?" Raistlin asked suddenly, out of nowhere, his eyes staying delicately closed.

"Wait... what?" Akara blinked, taken aback. She recalled the conversation of a few hours ago, about how -- were she to ever start killing people -- she would steal their left socks as well. "...Oh. Well, why _not_?" the thief returned, "Are you biased against left socks, Majere?"

Raistlin just laughed softly into her shoulder, the quiet sound much more genuine than she'd heard in a while. It made Akara grin to hear it, realizing how much she'd missed that rare sound, devoid for once of mockery, and she gave his still-captured hand a faint squeeze under the water. "Though I should probably take the right one, too," she added once his humor seemed to fade again, "I'd hate for it to feel left behind."

"Indeed," Raistlin's dry tone was ruined by the smile she could hear in his tone and feel against her shoulder, if not see, "one must always think of the socks..."

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
**Review-replies can be found at AroWrites dot Net**


	24. House of Cards

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 01.01.2010:

Heh, the date on this one looks kind of cool, doesn't it?

The promised Raistlin-perspective, hopefully helping alleviate any doubts of ICness that the more intimate recent chapters may have planted -- I was starting to have them myself, so this was good for me too. Akara hardly sees everything that goes on in his head, after all -- or even all that much. Raistlin is still definitely the one who keeps his cards closest to his chest. Thanks goes out to my roommate who suggested I poke around briefly in his head to re-settle some things for my own benefit if nothing else.

Jones and Alley should get back on camera at some point soonish, I've actually had to skip their bits so far in favor of other stuff. They're still around, Megan's been checking Akara's wounds every night and Alleyana has probably been sharpening a lot of blades in light of Tannu's death. She has "the crazy eye", you know. :D

_If love is surrender...  
Then whose war is it anyway...?  
-- Frou Frou - Psychobabble_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
TAF: Face to Face  
**House of Cards**

Raistlin Majere was getting tired of this. Victoria Krinir had him against the wall again, her nails digging into the skin of his throat this time, her breath heavy against his ear. "You should..." Victoria crooned, "just stop pretending to court her, Raistlin. Drop the pretense and we can be rid of her... once she's better, of course... and then you won't be so... tired." Why yes, that was her hand on him again, squeezing through his robes and trousers...

Weeks of this had gone by and the older Krinir only grew more and more bold with his person, more possessive, while he only grew more and more disturbed. When _Akara_ grabbed his hair and sucked on his throat, he felt nothing but delicious heat; when _Victoria_ tried it, he felt nothing but unbearable cold and disgust.

And Victoria was _very_ beautiful, most of the time, even to his cursed vision... but the knowledge of what she was...

This wasn't the first time Raistlin had dealt with this problem; unsavory women had tried this tactic on him before, although Victoria was far more direct about it than he was used to. A result, undoubtedly, of how easily magi gained whatever it was that they wanted here in Krontis... including one another. He held his breath for a moment, then let it go suddenly, throwing himself into a coughing-fit that made the woman back away quickly as he bent, clasping a hand over his mouth, his coughing _real_ for all that he'd triggered it on purpose. The sound grew damp and ragged as he clung to the Staff of Magius to keep from pitching to the floor, the tell-tale warmth in his palm telling him that he'd coughed blood again.

"I regret to say that my illness has not yet improved, my Lady," he rasped out once the fit had passed, leaning wearily against his staff as he dabbed the blood away on a cloth, noting from the corner of his eye her brief flash of revulsion for his frailty. Good. "It will be some time, I think, before you and I can... truly enjoy one another's company in such a manner." The slightest, most fleeting impatience crossed her features while he still didn't look directly, but when he lifted his head to regard her it was gone.

_No, Lady,_ he thought grimly, _my power will not be yours to claim!_

"You would recover so much faster if you weren't so stubborn about keeping my stepdaughter in the wings," Victoria sighed suddenly, reaching to place a slender hand on his narrow shoulder, "as though she could do _half_ the things for you that I could... but you are a noble man to stay with her while she recovers, a trait I must admit that I admire," she smiled coyly at him, rubbing the velvet of his robes between her fingers, "even if it _is_ sometimes frustrating."

"You are most patient, Victoria," Raistlin murmured weakly, and found that he mostly meant it... if not in the way that she would expect. "Thank you," he allowed himself to sway alarmingly against the staff, and hung his head briefly. "I am afraid that I must retire for the night. Please, keep me in your thoughts?"

"I always do," the woman crooned, and opened the door for him, letting him leave the library. "Good night, Raistlin Majere."

"And a good night to you as well, Victoria Krinir," he bowed shakily to her, and stepped into the hall. A moment later and he was gone, leaning against a wall around some dark corner somewhere, his face twisted into a sneer as he tipped his head back and felt at the stinging nail-marks on his throat. Could she get any more crude in her attempts to... mark her perceived territory?

He glanced out of a dark window nearby, wondering if he'd seen movement on a branch outside. Much had been going on while Akara had spent her time in a drug-fogged slumber. The Mockers, as he had discovered, did not particularly... _like_ him. This was of no real surprise to the black-robe, of course. Dropping the bit of information that he was courting Akara Krinir with an eye towards taking her back to Krynn with him had probably not helped matters much. Simple research had shown that the guild of thieves and throw-aways was still protective of their original leader, and even knew _who_ she was in polite society.

Since making this discovery, Raistlin had occasionally turned a corner to see a slip of shadow vanishing ahead of him, or felt eyes on him that he never saw.

It was a _far_ more entertaining game of cat-and-mouse than the one he was playing with Victoria, to be sure. That they had been trained by the best was obvious; he never caught his elusive shadows -- not that he tried very hard. But they still weren't as good as the Black Rabbit, for they never seemed to catch _him_, either, or perhaps they just weren't sure what to do with him yet. That was fine; they could watch him while he watched them. Eventually, they would have to make a decision and make a move... and he was counting on it. More desperately each time Victoria reached beneath his cloak!

Raistlin lowered his fingers from his throat and resumed walking, making his way down dark hallways to Akara's room, his path lit by his staff. Instead of going in, however, he continued walking for a short while and found another window in the hall, situating himself in front of it to stare moodily at his own rotting, decaying, _dying_ reflection in the glass. And beyond it, at the trees that withered and dried, and the walls of the grounds that crumbled and fell...

He thought on what had gone on yesterday; the two of them on the floor, the bathing tub... Raistlin's reflection sneered back at him with withering lips and blackening gums, and the mage finally turned away from the image entirely, leaning his back against the cold stone wall beside the window. "I can hardly believe," he murmured darkly to himself, "that I said those things -- _did_ those things! But..." he thought for a moment longer, and then lightly shook his head.

Pushing away from the wall and walking back to the door to the room, his staff clicking against the floor with each step, Raistlin paused for one more long moment with his hand on the doorknob, and allowed himself a sharp-edged smirk. "Six long years... and have I finally caught you now, my dear Black Rabbit?" he whispered to himself, but then released the doorknob and frowned at it, "Or am _I_ the one who has been caught? I cannot believe that I told you to... to _pet me_!"

But would he take it back?

She had never done these things either, and she had proven herself over and over to be among the more trustworthy people that the black-robe had ever met, guarding his secrets and throwing herself into harm's way on his behalf. Akara Krinir had broken into his Tower dozens of times, and yet nothing had ever gone missing, and he was reasonably sure that she had never even rifled through his belongings to satisfy her own burning curiosity. Even now, he felt oddly secure about leaving his bags unattended in her rooms... she was very polite, for a thief -- or anyone, really.

If there was one person other than his twin who he would trust with a knife to his throat, it would undoubtedly be this woman. That bothered Raistlin to his very core, but there was still little use in denying it. _Six years..._

Was it so bad? Would he take any of it back?

He leaned his forehead against the Staff of Magius, above his clenched hands, swaying for real this time as his balance wavered. She'd been _his_; writhing beneath him, _against_ him, her eyes on his face and his name on her lips as she had _come apart_, beautifully, straining up beneath his fingertips--

No... it wasn't so bad. And no... he would not take it back. Too much of him thrilled at the absolute power he wielded over the thief, knowing that he held her beating heart in his fingers with every passing moment... that fragile vulnerability; that unwavering devotion, were gifts that Raistlin would not easily set aside. Not after six years of hunting -- and of being hunted... not after a lifetime of distrust and pity and revulsion from all those around him.

Raistlin straightened, and then pushed open the door. It swung open, away from his touch, and straight through the incorporeal form of Grissom Krinir standing just within the doorway and staring steadily at the archmage. The black-robe gasped in surprise, his breath caught -- he began to cough, leaning against the staff again for support, his sleeve softening the noise. There was nothing quieter than a ghost, save perhaps for the ghost of a Krinir thief!

The specter looked over as Akara stirred on the bed, Raistlin's muffled cough enough to pull her out of her drugged slumber. Grissom stepped aside, then, and gestured once for Raistlin to come into the room. The mage surveyed the situation from over the top of his sleeve, wheezing in precious air, and then stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind him.

* * *

Akara stared.

Ankle-length coat unbuttoned from the waist down, cinched tight from the belt up, the cuffs crisply folded and the collar turned out... plain, close-fitting trousers, knee-high boots, narrow spectacles and his long dark hair bound into a simple tail at the nape of his neck. Akara had seen this man before, with his sharp, elegant features and his dark green eyes. He looked like a scholar, a noble. She'd seen him before.

...In a painting, one that she'd been terrified of as a kid. Her great-grandfather's uncle, the relative who no one _talked_ about, but everyone _whispered_ about.

The thief clutched at the blankets where she sat upright on the bed, pushing herself back against the headboard as the _other_, non-living thief turned to regard her. Raistlin stepped past the ghost, his muffled coughing finally abating as the door swung shut behind him. Her gaze barely managed to stay on him longer than a moment, however, before riveting back onto the ghost.

Raistlin, recovering finally, stepped between the two Krinirs, facing Grissom squarely. Maybe he could banish him, or something? Akara hoped so, her fist white-knuckling on the blanket, the hair on the back of her neck standing straight up. This was _not_ what she'd expected to see when she'd hauled herself awake at the sound of Raistlin coughing!

Holding her breath, she could only just barely hear the words that the black-robe murmured, a phrase in the spidery language of magic... and Raistlin threw his arms wide and repeated it twice more, his rasping voice louder than she'd ever heard it. "_Ast bilak parbilakir. Suh tangus moipiar?_" Akara's eyes widened, realizing suddenly that she'd never actually seen Raistlin _cast_ anything large before. Other mages, sure, hundreds of times, but never _this_ one. A few hissed words while she slipped unconscious during the crossbow attack; a lit fire; little (or otherwise muddled) things like that -- but never something so big and deliberate. Nothing like _this_, where he threw his head back and held his arms out and his voice rang hollowly off the walls...

For a split second, it was easy to forget about Grissom Krinir entirely. Her artist's eye traced the tense lines of Raistlin's neck, the strain of his out-stretched fingers. But then Raistlin lowered his arms, and he moved as though entranced to turn and walk beside the ghost she had almost forgotten was there as the specter approached her on the bed.

"Akara Nikhiora Krinir," it was Raistlin's voice, and yet it wasn't, though it came from the archmagus' lips. Smoother, colder from the chill of death, conversational rather than a whisper and without a single hint of rasp. Closer now, and she could see that the ghost's clothing was singed at the edges, as was the end of his long ponytail. She swallowed. Both the Magekiller and the mage halted only a few feet away, Raistlin's movement stopping as suddenly as though he was a puppet whose strings had been pulled taut, utterly unnatural. Akara shrank back.

"...Y-yeah?" she managed, hating how small her voice sounded, "you... you aren't hurting him, are you?" Akara asked, and then managed to summon some fire into her voice, just in case! "He's never done shit to you, so you better not!"

"I am not," the ghost replied through the mage's lips, "at least... not at this time." It was all the more menacing when one took into account who the ghost _was_. Akara stared, looking from one to the other and back. Grissom folded his gloved hands behind his back, regarding her through his narrow-framed spectacles. "Will you listen to me?"

"You're a serial-murdering freak," Akara whispered, "I don't have to listen to a damn word you say." Beside the ghost, Raistlin swayed slightly in place, the color draining from his skin. "Let him go!" she added, eyes widening. "Write me a fucking letter or something, since you like rambling on so much!" A sharp gesture at his stack of parchment and the book, and then she was hauling the blanket off herself with her one hand, preparing to get up and... and... she wasn't sure what. She couldn't cancel Raistlin's spell, and even if she _could_, who knew what that might do to the mage?

"_He_ is the one maintaining the connection, not I," said Grissom through Raistlin, "he inferred, correctly, that I might like to have a word with you. I was not and am not the monster I have been painted to be all your life, Akara. What I did helped heal Krontis, however little, and sealed new Krynnish magi -- and their ambitions -- from entering the city." When Akara looked to Raistlin, her confusion obvious, the voice-that-wasn't-Raistlin's added, "Ah... yes. Every lock has a key, Akara. Our blood seals Krontis against his _kind_, but traveling with a Krinir may be likened to traveling with the master key in hand. I have watched as each of my descendants was murdered as a result of this trait or others... and you may very well be the next, and last, to fall--"

Raistlin jerked forward a step, his eyes rolling back so that only the whites were visible, strain evident on his face as he held the spell -- and then his knees buckled and Akara lunged forward off of the bed to catch him, her one arm wrapping around his thin waist and her good shoulder braced to be leaned against. He slumped, his full weight surprising her as it had the very first time she'd done this, years ago. But this time, there was a convenient bed only a few feet away, and so Akara hauled him to it before his weight could completely overwhelm her, helping him onto it sideways.

Grissom Krinir watched for a few moments, silently, as his great great grand-niece crawled onto the bed with the black-robe and pulled one of Raistlin's odd eyes back open to look at, the hourglass pupil blown so wide that it was almost round again. She easily ignored the feared specter while worrying over Raistlin, and by the time she looked back up again the ghost had gone, only a faint trace of blue smoke lingering in the air to mark his passage.

"The fuck was that all about?" Akara asked, as Raistlin swatted her hand away and rolled onto his back, drawing a foot up onto the bed, shaking slightly.

"That... has never happened," he rasped, his voice suffering from the abuse it had been put through, "it... must have to do with..." Raistlin lifted a hand, weakly, up to the bandages around her throat, his fingertips warm even through the layers of cloth. "You... Krinirs can be... difficult to cast on, although not impossible... undoubtedly a precaution against magical... assassination," his faint smile wasn't really a smile at all, a coldness settling in his eyes, "else you would have been eliminated... generations ago..."

"You sound fucking exhausted," observed the thief grumpily, "when's the last time you slept? Every time I wake up you're already awake, and every time I fall asleep you're still awake... yeah, yeah, I know," added Akara with a dismissive hand wave, noting his sigh, "I'm sure part of it is that spell you did, but seriously. You never sleep!"

"Not often, no," Raistlin admitted. Akara watched as his eyes half-shut, then re-opened, and the mage moved as though to sit up -- Akara put her hand on his thin, rattling chest and pushed him back down before he could get far, surprised at how easy it was to do so. "Akara..."

"Shut up," she huffed, climbing back off the bed and crouching down at the foot still hanging off the edge, "you're taking care of me lately but you always ignore your own health." And without further ado, she started determinedly fumbling with the lacing of his boot. Gods but her coordination had gone to shit over the weeks... was it the drugs, the head injury, or both? Akara looked up and found Raistlin propped up on one elbow to watch her, an odd expression creasing his brow and thinning his lips. "...What?"

The look persisted, Raistlin visibly contemplating her actions. Akara felt her own eyes narrow, and then she went back to his boot. Tug, tug, slip... finally unknotting the tie, she loosened the lacing and started to pull the boot off of his leg. She knew Raistlin slept in his robes -- though the pants were debatable -- but with his boots on would just be ridiculous. "...You are ignoring the entire incident," Raistlin murmured finally, collapsing back onto the bed, "just as easily as that?"

"Yeah," Akara mumbled, and pulled the boot off the rest of the way, setting it aside and then reaching for his other foot to do the same to it. "I used to be even better at it, before I got all rusty and shit. Denial is an _art-form_; anyone who says otherwise is just in denial."

"So I see," Raistlin sighed, his tone vague. Amusement? Annoyance? She couldn't tell, because he spoke too softly. "You make an... alarming amount of sense in your insanity, sometimes." Not sure if that was a compliment or an insult, Akara settled for a roll of her eyes as reply, knowing that he wouldn't even see it, and went about pulling his second boot off and setting it down with the other. She climbed back up onto the bed on her knees and one hand, and smirked when she noticed his eyes had closed and his breathing had evened out.

Well, it was about damn time.

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
**Review-replies can be found at AroWrites dot Net**


	25. Dead Walking

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 01.05.2010:

This one took longer because almost a third of the chapter had to be deleted halfway through when it was heading quickly into stall-land. I'm not shy about ripping out whole chunks of fic, and never have been, but it makes the writing a bit slower when I do it. :)

Thank you to all the reviewers, I'm uploading replies to the site as soon as this goes up, as usual. :) I've also put Akara's soundtrack and random information up on the arofic livejournal community for anyone interested. This will eventually go onto the site as well, but I'll probably wait until I've profiled more than one OC before making a new section for this. Conveniently enough, they almost all have pre-existing soundtracks... Tannusen's has a lot of David Bowie and Duran Duran, unsurprisingly.

There is a link to the community in my userinfo, if the soundtrack is no longer on the front page it should be easily found by clicking on "soundtrack" underneath "tags". :)

_Do just what I tell you  
And no one will get hurt  
Don't come any closer  
'Cause I dunno how long I can hold my heart in two...  
-- Frou Frou - Psychobabble_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
TAF: Face to Face**  
Dead Walking  
**

It was, somehow, the first time Akara was present for Raistlin's night-terrors.

She sat beside him on the bed, a thick piece of vellum laid across the inside of her knee, bent down upon the bed sideways, and her drawing-stick in hand. His staff, left laying in the middle of the floor, illuminated her work easily enough... Akara had tried to get it to go dark for the sleeping mage's sake, even experimentally trying the word she knew was "dark" -- _dulak_ -- but she wasn't a mage in any sense, so it ignored her. She'd cursed at it -- quietly -- and threatened to paint it pink. In a stray fit of both annoyance and amusement, Akara had even thrown a pillowcase over the top of it... and it had just glowed all the stronger through the cloth, as though to spite her.

So, next to her sketch of Raistlin in all his magical majesty casting, she was now drawing a particular staff with a pillowcase over its top and an angry mob of weapon-bearing people descending upon it in the distance. To underscore her point, she made the pitchforks extra fork-y. The staff, she could have sworn, only seemed to glow even brighter as a result! "You," she muttered at it, pointing menacingly with her drawing-stick, "have an attitude problem. That's what people say, right? 'Oh, oh, _you_ have an attitude problem!' Well, my-friend-the-stick, you _do_, and admitting now it will only help you in the long run! So--"

Beside her, Raistlin gasped suddenly for breath, the sound tearing through his throat, and Akara jumped nearly out of her skin, the drawing stick clattering off the edge of the bed to the stone floor. She looked aside at him, wide-eyed, sure she'd somehow woken him up in a bad way or maybe he was going into a coughing fit or--

The mage was clawing at his throat, his face a rictus of pain and fear. Akara shoved her drawing off onto the floor, too, so she could twist to face him and take one of his fragile wrists in her only hand, pulling it back. The bones felt thin under her rope-climbing grip, but she had to hold on tightly as he tried to yank it away with all his strength. "Majere!" Akara tried, "Hey, wake up! _Majere!_ You're okay!" A brief hesitation, and the thief gulped before plowing on, "Raistlin! Wake the fuck up! _Raist--ow!_ Hey! _Ow!_" That, was her getting clocked in the nose as the mage suddenly stopped trying to claw his throat out and reached blindly toward her, the blow to her nose making the world flash white.

Reality **flickered**.

_Black, darkness so thick it felt like she was drowning in ink, Akara opened her mouth and the ink rushed in -- and she saw, somehow, a figure with golden-skinned hands struggling ahead of her, below her, drowning... she grabbed those hands in both of hers and _pulled_ with all her might, struggling for the surface--!_

She came out of it with a gasp to mirror Raistlin's own, the mage gripping her one wrist in both of his hands so tightly that the bones ground together. His eyes were open, half-mad with his dream... he relaxed his grip, swallowing visibly, eyes huge and wide and not really aware of what was going on around him. Akara was struck, suddenly, with the reminder that Raistlin was only in his late twenties -- not so old as he often acted. "M... Majere?"

"Guard my sleep," Raistlin whispered, and Akara noticed he was already half asleep again, "please... keep them away..." Akara blinked, taken aback by the request, watching the mage struggle to remain partially-awake, haunted by what waited for him on the backs of his eyelids. The thief swallowed, and then reached down to grab the blankets under them both, laying down beside the mage and hauling the cloth over them both so that they were enfolded by the cloth -- and, ironically -- the darkness. This was not the inky black of nightmares, though... this was warmer, like Raistlin's robes in the sunlight.

"I'm... no good at fighting anything off," Akara mumbled, somehow getting onto her good side and worming her arm under his head, the mage shivering and rolling to face her, taking a fistful of her tunic as though to keep her close, "but I'm real good at hiding. So I'll hide you from 'em, whoever they are, and they won't find you." The thief looked down at Raistlin's head in the dark, his soft, rattling breath warming the cloth of her tunic and the bandages just below her collarbones, his head tipped up towards hers on her arm. He was relaxing into sleep at her words, as though they actually helped to sooth his troubles, his grip on her shirt loosening. "I'll keep you hidden," Akara repeated, even quieter. Whoever 'they' were, she was surprised to find she actually _meant_ it, despite her own relative helplessness when compared to the archmage, feeling oddly protective in the face of his vulnerability, "No one's fucking finding you..."

Raistlin exhaled deeply against her collarbone, seemed to fall quickly back asleep. Akara stayed awake a while longer, curling her arm up behind him, but the heat of their weird little cocoon and his breath warming her skin through the layers of cloth lured her back to sleep again.

Akara jerked awake hours later to the sound of knocking at the bedroom door. With much flailing of her one arm, she knocked the folded blankets off herself and sat up, blinking at the daylight pouring in through the windows. Raistlin had, at some point, managed to extract himself without waking her up and had re-covered her in the blankets... he looked up at the door from his chair by the fire, an open spellbook in his lap, and then glanced over at Akara, one white eyebrow delicately raising. The staff, now leaning against the wall beside him, had been silently de-pillow-cased.

"Yeah?" Akara called out towards the door, which swung open. In strode Alleyana, followed by Jones. The doctor closed the door primly behind them and then walked towards Akara, her bag in hand. Her head fuzzy from over-sleep, it took the thief a moment to realize with some surprise that Jones hadn't come by last night -- the doctor was usually nothing if not rigid in her patterns. "Uh... what's going on?"

"Bodies," Alleyana said simply, resting a hand on one hip and standing still in the middle of the room, "Three black-robe mages, one last night in our courtyard and two left leaning against our front gates this morning. Someone was _busy_." The Weaponsmaster reached into her pocket and produced a bit of folded parchment with dried blood smeared on it, and she held it out to Raistlin. "_This_ was in one of their hands. You been pissing off any dead people, Majere?"

The cold, steel-like quality of Alley's gaze was still alarming, even if it had been that way ever since Tannusen had died. Akara watched the warrior and the mage as her neck was unwrapped by the doctor, reflecting that Alleyana was a bit crazy on a _good_ day... having her little brother blown up meant that the good days were over. She was literally just waiting to kill someone, and maybe to go out at the same time.

Akara sort of understood that, having snuck into the Tower of High Sorcery of Palanthas dozens of times over the years, each time sure it would be her last. No pay, no loot; only blindingly white-hot adrenalin and the surety that she would be a smear on the flagstones if ever caught. One didn't have to be _violent_ to have a gruesome death-wish. Her gaze went to Raistlin as he unfolded the note and read it, his eyebrows raising. The object of her originally-planned demise, and there he was sitting there reading a note in her room, just as calm as could be. Fate was a _weird_ bitch sometimes. "So? What's it say?" Akara prompted, when it didn't seem that the mage would read out loud.

"'Majere is next,'" Raistlin murmured, and set the parchment aside. He looked coolly up at Alley for a moment, then shook his head. "If you are referring to the myths of the Magekiller still slaying magi in the streets, I have heard that these occasional killings are too... sadistic for it to have been him. He was no sadist, he was much more quick and clean."

"The heads were nearly severed," Alley grunted, "I've been of the opinion for a while now that whoever it is is a copycat. Krontis mages try to keep information on him as quiet as possible so that no one else gets any... ideas, but they're bound to mess up sometime."

"Grissom Krinir never cut deeper than necessary," Akara said quietly, remembering the _dreams_, so vivid it was as though she remembered her own missions. "His hand never slipped."

"The man in the courtyard was killed where we found him," Megan Jones' chilling monotone seemed to break into the conversation, though she had been here the whole time and was undoubtedly involved. _No wonder she didn't come by,_ Akara realized as she tipped her chin up so that Jones could re-wrap her throat. It was apparently mostly healed; there was no more dabbing of pungent herbs into open wounds. _She was probably with the body... and her knives..._ the thief couldn't help a small shudder. Jones' coroner duties were arguably what the doctor enjoyed most; she definitely preferred her patients silent and unmoving... although there had been rumors more than once when Akara had been small of the dead moving quite well behind Jones' closed doors. While the rumors of necromancy were probably just that -- rumors, meant to frighten her -- it was still a little too easy to envision.

"...Wait, what?" Akara asked, realizing that Jones had still been talking and that she'd lost track of her words.

"I _said_, if you would be so kind as to try to _listen_ this time," how Megan could make a monotone _sharp_, Akara didn't know, but the doctor was a professional at it, "that the two at the gate were killed elsewhere and then staged where we found them this morning. I have determined that they died at around the same time as the man in the courtyard."

"Huh," the thief felt really brilliant now, but it was all she could think to say, looking over at Majere as he calmly closed the spellbook in his lap. Akara recognized the binding on it; it was from the Krinir library and had belonged to a cousin of hers. That explained _some_ of what Raistlin had been up to while she'd been unconscious, to be sure... a lot of Krinirs had married mages over the generations, and a few had even been mages themselves. The library was fairly prestigious, for all that it was under lock and key from the rest of Krontis now that her mother was dead.

_No wonder he wanted to stay here,_ Akara thought grumpily, and blinked when Raistlin suddenly looked up at her as though he'd heard it. "Well," she managed weakly, "if there's one mage who can handle some copy-cat Magekiller wannabe, I'd put my money on Majere." _You'd better not get killed!_ she added mentally, just in case he _could_ somehow hear, _Or I'll track your ghost down and... uh... _do_ something to it!_

The faint smirk on his lips could have been for any reason, unfortunately. Majere settled back in his chair, long fingers tapping on the book's cover. "Well," he said mildly, "I suppose time will tell."

Alleyana just grunted, and turned to open the door. "Jones, I'll wait in your office." And then the door was open, the Weaponsmaster stepped out, and the door closed again. Just like that -- one, two, three. Akara stared after her, wondering if that was how _she'd_ acted before a mission when her death-wish had been at its worse. _Probably not,_ the thief mused with a faint shudder, _I preferred arguing psychology with socks and leaving notes on palace guards, after all. Alley... sharpens things. And waits._

Jones finished her inspection of Akara's shoulder, re-wrapping what she had loosened and then turning to leave. The doctor paused, however, in the doorway, and shot Raistlin a meaningful glance before she left. No whispered conversation in the far corner like she vaguely remembered from back when she'd been drugged, nothing, just one look and then the click of the door's latch closing.

"...You're up to something," Akara stated a few moments later. When Raistlin said nothing, she stared at him. "You're totally up to something!" The mage simply touched his fingertips together over the book in his lap, looking down at his hands. "I know," she added after a moment of this, eyes narrowing, "that you're _always_ up to _something_, but you're _actively up to something_ right now."

Raistlin looked up and over, finally, "Always?" he questioned, but didn't wait for an answer, waving dismissively with one slender hand. "I suppose I should hardly deny it. Can you, Akara, still teach me to dance with one arm immobile?" The question came literally out of nowhere, asked in the same conversational tone as his comment, and Akara stared for a moment like a moron.

"...What?" The thief tallied up the weeks in her head, and continued to stare at him. "Why? I ended up too maimed to be forced into anything during that holiday, and I assume you got a free pass to skip it too out of 'courtly concern' or some shit... so, problem solved, right?"

"While it is true that we managed to... ah, avoid that particular instance," the archmage looked down at his fingers again, tapping them together in what almost seemed a slightly nervous gesture. Akara watched, her gaze following his. "Doctor Jones has told me that exercise will help you recover faster, at this point, and I would... still like to learn."

"...Okay," Akara stared at him for a moment, "sure. It's mostly footwork anyway, it's just going to be harder to guide you around with one arm."

"Then I shall endeavor to be easily guided," Raistlin set the spellbook carefully aside, and climbed to his feet. He left the Staff of Magius against the wall, safely out of pillowcase range, and walked over to the closet. "Shall I change into a tunic, then, so you can more easily see my feet, my lady thief?" Not waiting for an answer, he undid the ties on his robe and pulled it off himself, Akara staring openly at his back as he unlaced and pulled on a tunic. He had just enough musculature to get by -- barely -- and the rest was sharp bones and slender whipcord... not really what she would call _skeletal_ -- there was flesh over those bones, and his stomach and sides were not concave beneath his ribs -- but he was certainly more suited to libraries and quiet study than any other vocation.

The thief only realized she was still staring contemplatively when he turned to look at her, and his knowing smirk jarred her out of her thoughts. Akara blinked. "Second thoughts, Akara?" he asked mildly, a certain cold satisfaction in his gaze at her perceived... whatever he thought she was thinking.

Akara felt her brow furrow. Did he still think...? "Majere, come here," she frowned, and gestured him over. The mage approached slowly, his spell components looking even stranger at his hips without a robe for the hanging pouches and small animal skulls and feathers to rest against, the belt loose enough around his slender waist that it had remained while he'd slipped the robe off over his head. Once he was in range, she reached up with her one hand and undid the belt's ties, setting the whole mess on the edge of the bed next to her where it wouldn't get tangled up in itself. That he let her get away with removing his spell components privately stunned her, but the archmage offered no protest and even held himself still while she did so.

So Akara did something that surprised both of them. She set her hand on his stomach, and pulled the tunic up as far as she could reach from where she sat. Both of them seemed to hold their breaths, and Akara stared in some frustration at her lack of two hands. "Hold this," she muttered, and blinked when he reached up and did so, his warm fingertips brushing hers as he delicately pinned the cloth in place. He was being really, really cooperative for someone she'd accused of acting like a bitchy cat at least one time previous...

And really silent. The thief glanced up at Raistlin's face, and found the archmage regarding her with simple caution and curiosity. He had no idea what she was doing, or why she was doing it, but he would go along with it in order to find out. Good enough! It wasn't like Akara knew what she was doing, either! So she reached around behind him, setting her hand on his bare lower back, and pulled him a step closer. Annoyance flashed in his eyes as he stumbled forward a step, but was quickly replaced by numb shock when she leaned forward and _licked_ his strange golden skin, just above the navel!

"You're strange looking," said the thief, her face heating as she set her cheek against the soft, burning-hot skin of his stomach, her hand staying splayed on his back, "but you're not at all repulsive, so knock that shit off. Strange isn't _bad_ -- if I stare, it's as much out of curiosity as anything! Cut me some slack, Majere, I didn't grow up around shirtless farm-boys and shit." The cloth of his tunic came down against the top of her head as he let it go, and his hand very hesitantly settled on her hair. When she risked a glance upwards, Akara saw that he'd closed his eyes, looking oddly... peaceful in light of her actions. Akara remained where she was long enough for her thoughts to drift a bit, and then moved to sit back from him, letting her arm drop. "Alright, if we're going to do this today then I guess we should start," she grumbled. His hand was still on her head.

Slowly, he tipped her head back, and slowly, he leaned down to brush his dry, warm lips against hers.

"...Majere?" Akara could tell that her eyes were very, very wide. They only grew wider as Raistlin sank down to his knees in front of her, his hand on the back of her head pulling her forward and down so that he could continue the assault. She shuddered faintly, and gripped his bony shoulder in her one hand, leaning with an eagerness that surprised her to lick at that burning-hot tongue, her mind going all swimmy and unfocused. Was this...? This was... she wasn't sure _what_ this was.

"Your legs," Raistlin whispered hotly against her lips, his free hand going to one of her knees, "_spread_ them." It was utterly lewd of him to say, completely unexpected, and Akara actually paused in surprise, her breath harsh. She could feel his knowing smirk, and hear it in his voice, "Too crude, my dear? Ah, but your breath has sped up... perhaps you _like_ hearing me speak as such...?"

"Shut up," Akara was annoyed to hear how weirdly breathless she sounded.

"Do as I say," Raistlin murmured, his hand on her knee tightening, "I want..." he trailed off as she swallowed and slowly did as asked, shifting her legs. He moved forward almost immediately, his hand on her head keeping it bowed so that he could invade her mouth with his tongue, hot and intimate, making her spine want to turn to liquid, the grip on her knee sliding up to her thigh...

He only pulled away from her lips when his breathing grew alarmingly harsh, taking his hand off her leg and coughing into his sleeve. Not quite a fit, but his lungs were still finicky. "...Too many years," the archmage mumbled as though to himself, his weakened grip dropping from the back of her head, too, so she could straighten. Akara stared down at him, her heart hammering away, her grip on his shoulder remaining. He was still _between her legs_, by his own request -- she had reason to be a little... flustered! "Akara," Raistlin's soft rasp interrupted her thoughts, what there was of them, and she blinked down at him.

"Y...yeah?" It seemed like he was waiting for her to respond, and she was startled anew when he looked up at her, the odd reflectiveness of his eyes cracked wide open, pulling her in... she stopped herself from leaning down, but only barely. His breathing was what stopped her, too ragged and too harsh, the audible rattle worse than she'd heard it in a while. Something was definitely stressing him out...

"I am such a _fool_!" Raistlin whispered bitterly, and he pushed abruptly away from her and to his feet, striding back over to his chair by the fire and sinking into it, lifting a shaking hand to his forehead. Akara blinked repeatedly after him, then rolled her eyes and allowed herself to fall back onto the bed, only her legs hanging off and her feet on the ground.

"Well, _that_ was certainly dramatic," she scrubbed at her face with her one hand. "The fuck is the problem, Majere?" Akara was silent for a few moments, waiting, and then turned her head to look at him when he was silent. "_Hey_," she huffed, "you can't demand to get between my legs and then walk off in a huff and not tell me why. It doesn't work that way!" Raistlin said nothing, only clenched his jaw and flipped open the spellbook again, appearing to be ignoring her. His hands shook faintly against the pages, and Akara's eyes narrowed. Oh _really_, now?

She rolled silently onto the balls of her feet, and stalked towards Raistlin in a... _mostly_-straight line. Her balance was still shit, but even now she could move as quietly as a ghost if she put her mind to it, and Akara was _definitely_ putting her mind to it...

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
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Support this series if you enjoy it; review!  
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	26. These Ties That Bind

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 01.07.2010:

**IMPORTANT NOTE:** This chapter is gutted and will not make complete sense. That's because I had to cut out the MA-rated stuff for the ffnet version to keep the rating down / the story not deleted.

If you choose to not read the chapter on my site, where it's complete, don't be surprised if you're not a bit confused by the end of the chapter. _Things_ get said. Thank you. ;)

The chapter can be found on arowrites dot net. Click on Dragonlance beneath Fanfictions on the menu, and scroll to the bottom for TAF 4's chapter list.

I hope you enjoy, either way. ;D

_Face to face, my lovely foe,  
Mouth to mouth, raining heaven's blows.  
Hand on heart, tic tac toe...  
Under the stars, naked as we flow!  
Cheek to cheek, the bitter sweet,  
Commit your crime... in your deadly time!  
-- Siouxsie and the Banshees - Face to Face_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
TAF: Face to Face  
**These Ties That Bind**

When Akara reached the back of Majere's chair, she paused for a second, contemplating her next move. She leaned over his shoulder, right beside his clenched jaw, looking at the spellbook. "You know," the thief's voice was low and dangerous, "I can't read that language, but I'm pretty sure that's upside-down."

Raistlin tensed visibly, and Akara was gratified to notice that it took him a moment to respond, as though he had to check. "It is _not_," he rasped, finally turning his head to look at her sidelong, "I would hardly consider you an expert on the--"

"I'm expert enough to get around it," Akara interrupted, and plucked the book from his grasp, tossing it onto one of the other armchairs. Then, before he could react, she grabbed the back of his chair and _pulled_, knocking him straight to the floor! Moving faster than she had in weeks, she immediately hauled him free of the furniture with her one hand, straddling his stomach while he was still dazed, his breath knocked out of him and his eyes unfocussed as he wheezed. "I may not be magi, but you forget who I've targeted as a thief!"

"What is the meaning of this?" Majere gasped, coughing hard into his sleeve again, his eyes closing with the force of it. Akara couldn't help but feel bad for the violent tactic, but she was getting sick of his shit and what else was a one-armed, concussed, medicated _thief_ supposed to do to make the strongest mage to ever walk Krynn talk? The coughing went on for what seemed like forever, the terrible noise stabbing at her heart, but Akara stayed where she was and watched the consequences of her actions unblinkingly. Something in her head was finally snapping, she could feel it cracking and giving way with every wrenching spasm of the mage's frail body. His closeness and then sudden aloofness was enough to put things into perspective again for her.

"...I'm a thief," she muttered once his coughing had passed and he lay exhausted on the floor beneath her, his golden eyes mere slits. Akara's voice grew stronger, the sound of something breaking echoing in her own ears. "I'm a fucking _thief_, Majere! _Whores_ get more respect than thieves do -- even a Kender will go red with rage if you dare call them what I _am!_" Shouting now, she clenched her one hand in the front of his tunic. "In Krontis and in Krynn, thieves are the bottom of the shit pile and people hate us way more than they _ever hated mages!_ It doesn't matter _why_ you're a thief or if you only steal from rich bastards, _no one cares!_ They run thieves out of town if they don't kill us! So... yeah, you're a fucking fool!"

She stared down at her hand clenched in Raistlin's shirt, her voice quieting. "You're a fucking fool. I'm not magi, I can't share in your enthrallment with your magic, I can't _be_ a part of that -- that weird-ass world you mages live in. And I'm not some noble lady who'd look good on a mage's arm as a decoration, I'm _a thief_," Akara shook her fist in his clothes, jarring him, "and I will _never_ give that up. I'll be a thief until the day I die, because that is what _I_ choose to be! So you can order me to spread my legs and you can take my clothes off in the bath and you can do all those things guys do, but you're a fucking _fool_ for even going there with _me_. Satisfied? I agree with you! It's why I ran away -- it's why I _always run away!_ You're too smart to be _so fucking stupid--!_"

Raistlin tried to interject, and she snarled at him before he could get a single word out. "Shut up!" Akara hissed, her fingers in his tunic bone-white from her grip, "You think toying with me is so fucking great, don't you? _Don't you?_ I'm stupid about people I'm not robbing blind and I'm no good at your little mind-games and I never have been, but you keep upping the stakes anyway! Is it fun, Majere? Is it? Is this _fun?_ You were... you were supposed to _kill_ me when you caught me!" The thief barely noticed how blurry her vision had gotten, and she couldn't see her own thick tears hitting his face, one by one; couldn't see how wide the odd hourglass eyes had gotten, "What's with this new bullshit of yours? Kissing, dancing, other... other shit! Why? Why are you such a _fool!_" The final word was accompanied by a vicious shake of her one hand in Raistlin's tunic, lifting him briefly from the floor and thumping him back against it. He weighed so little in the face of her adrenalin...

Overwhelmed by the fury of her own explosion, Akara shoved away from the archmage and stumbled to her feet, blindly turning to stagger away. His hand around her ankle was more than enough to topple her to the floor, catching herself instinctively with her free arm. "What are you--!" There was no way for her to have expected him to move so fast, and suddenly _she_ was pinned to the floor under _his_ weight, face down, Raistlin's breath hot against the back of her neck.

They stayed that way for a while, Akara's initial struggles easily held in check by the frail mage. She only had one arm, and he was on top of her, on her back, his hand covering hers and his surprisingly-strong fingers lacing between her own. "...The only person I have lied to about courting you," whispered Raistlin, several long minutes after she appeared to calm, or at least had stopped struggling, "is you. _That_ is why the kissing, the dancing; the... other things." Akara could feel him bow his head, resting his forehead against her back, just below her neck. "I apologize, my Lady thief," he rasped, "I am... I know nothing of these things... I have no skill in romance; no talent in seduction. In _these_ things, I am but a fool. I..." Raistlin's whisper grew softer, uncertain, "I do not like being reduced to... to not knowing what I am doing..."

Akara stared across the surface of the floor at the far wall, the side of her face pressed to the stone. She could scarcely breathe, though it had nothing to do with his weight on her back. She could scarcely think. That had been a lie... to her? Then that meant... _Mayhap, mayhap not,_ she remembered his words during her first attempt to teach him dancing. Just the _hint_ that he might be serious had chased her off into the snow!

"I have wrest beings from other planes so terrible that a stray blink of an eye, or a single twitch of a finger, would have ended in an agonizing death... but in the face of _this_, I hesitate!" Raistlin continued, his fingers tightening against hers. "I care _nothing_ for the opinions of those others, I could not give a _damn_ if thieves are so repugnant to the world! _Let_ them see a _master thief_ on my arm, the Master of Palanthas' dark tower, and let them tremble that two forces they loathe so much have joined! I care _**not!**_" And the bottom of his spare fist hit the floor by her bound shoulder, the archmagus' breath catching and throwing him into another coughing fit.

When it passed, he immediately continued, his rasping whisper so quiet against her back that he sounded suddenly quite young... and quite bitter, "...You say that I was supposed to kill you, Akara. Is death truly so preferable to my favor?"

"You say such stupid shit, Majere," Akara grumbled, her face hot against the cold stone of the floor.

"It was you who said it first," Raistlin replied against her bandaged neck, "was it not? You have made many proclamations over the years, Akara Krinir -- ah, or perhaps just Akara? Disowned and stricken from the family records as you were, declared dead... I wonder why you would resist my courtship?" Akara sucked in a breath at his words, and shivered when his too-warm fingertips brushed her hair away from the side of her neck and face, his other hand still tangled with hers on the floor. "Would 'Majere' truly be such a poor surname to take?"

Akara choked. She held very, very still for a moment, unable to even breathe, and then struggled again to get up. "Let me go!" she gasped, yanking on her hand -- but he held it in place, and held her down with relative ease. She couldn't -- get -- any -- _leverage!_ "Let me up!"

"No, I think not. You will only run." Raistlin murmured, shifting his legs to better pin hers as she _almost_ got a knee under herself. "What progression do you _think_ courtship takes, my dear? I am not asking for your hand _now_, but I will... in the future. I will, and... I suspect that you will give it to me."

No 'might', or 'maybe', but 'will'. Akara... considered this for a moment, rationally. The thief pondered his words as carefully and as objectively as she possibly could, and then... of course... came to the only logical conclusion there was. She freaked the _fuck_ out, struggling so hard suddenly that she almost threw him off, despite his precautions, "You must be really fucking desperate!"

"I am," the mage admitted softly, making her go still again, her heart hammering. "My studies, my concentration... my destiny! You have stolen so many things from me, my thief, that I am _desperate_ to claim something of you in return!" Raistlin's dry lips brushed the side of her neck, just behind her jaw and below her ear, "If I will not yet have the immortality of godhood to console me, then..."

"Sh... shit!" Akara tried to claw at the floor with her one hand as his fingers -- of the hand not tangled with hers -- raked down her ribcage. "_Shit!_" The archmagus' soft laugh in her ear wasn't precisely reassuring. Decidedly _sinister_, the sound made the hair on the back of her neck stand up and her heartbeat painfully frantic... and an odd thrill lanced straight down her spine, settling right where--

Suddenly her struggles made things _worse_, and she went still. Raistlin's long fingers slid beneath her stomach, under her tunic, caressing soft skin. "This time," he whispered, his hand sliding lower, the tips of his fingers worming beneath the waist of her pants, "I will not hesitate!"

Despite his words, he paused as though waiting for her to protest, but all Akara could do was lift her hips off the floor, letting him undo the ties to her clothing. She held still when his hand un-laced from hers and slid down her arm; side; hip. Akara didn't struggle when she felt the bare skin of her rear against the soft cotton of his own trousers and the hardness behind them, her hips pressing back down against cold stone.

"Majere--" she gasped, as both of his hands wormed between them, grasping and squeezing soft flesh. Akara couldn't help but to fitfully part her thighs, her face hot against the floor, as he kneaded her rear, pulling the two halves apart and letting himself rub, through his trousers, between them. Lower and he would be... would be... she was embarrassed to note how cold the air was on wet flesh, and was glad he covered her with his body. If he sat back and _looked_, she'd die of embarrassment on the spot!

"'Raistlin'," the archmage corrected, his soft rasp breathless. "You may as well get used to it, Akara, for the future. I will not have my wife," he rubbed harder, as though the word itself wound him up even _hotter_, "addressing me by our surname..."

"Why that?" Akara couldn't help ask, even as she arched up against him, thoughts of escape lost in the rush. "Why m-marriage? You don't have to _marry_ me to _fu..._ t-to... ahh..." Coherence was for other situations, ones that didn't involve blazingly-hot fingertips tracing down over bare skin, sliding against dampness, trailing across... she jerked once as though on a puppet-string and then held utterly, _utterly_ still as one long, slender finger slid slowly _into_ her. His legs shifted, pushing between hers, pushing them _apart_.

"You will be _mine_," Raistlin hissed into her ear, his single finger sliding deeper as Akara slowly raised her hips off the floor, arching her spine, her breath coming in ragged gasps that filled the room, "I will take nothing less than _all_ of you... your body, your heart, your very soul -- mine!" And then he sucked in a breath as his finger halted its movement, the hardness felt through his trousers pressing down almost violently against the cleft of her rear. "You really are...!" Raistlin's voice trembled with an excitement she hadn't heard before, "You truly are untouched!"

She should have demanded to know if he'd thought she was lying, before; should have been indignant. All Akara could manage to do was pant raggedly like a common whore and arch back against his finger, trying to take _more_...! But he wouldn't give more, withdrawing his finger. "Ask me," Raistlin rasped into her ear, his voice still shaky, the hardness against her ass rubbing fitfully, "ask me by _name_ to take you, Akara. I would -- I would have you offer yourself to me... I, who would have been a _god!_ Beg, and I may yet be merciful!"

"F-fuck," Akara barely gasped out, "y... you're so ins... insane..."

"Get on the bed," Raistlin whispered, his breath almost unbearably hot in her ear, "and take off your clothes, or I shall tear them from you." And then he rolled off of her, exposing her to the air, and Akara buried her face against her arm and stayed in place for a moment, trembling uncontrollably. Maybe he _was_ going to kill her... she certainly felt like she was going to die!

Somehow, she managed to get up, staggering to the bed with her pants around her thighs. Somehow, she managed to burrow under the blankets and remove her clothing, leaving just bandages and skin. Somehow, she did all this without giving it much thought, her eyes fixed on Raistlin as he stood by the fire and stared at it, rubbing his fingertip against his thumb contemplatively. _That_ fingertip. Face flaming, Akara pulled the blankets over her head and hid, wondering if he would change his mind...

_**(( See Author's Notes for why whole pages of this chapter are missing! ))**_

_**(( Stop reading here if you plan to read the full version~ ))**_

**(( Also, ffnet doesn't let me put in a bunch of linebreaks for this. ))**

(( Isn't that kind of ghetto-licious? ))

**(( I THINK SO, TOO! o ))**

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In the end, they were just a pile of limbs and ragged breathing; gleaming skin and tangled hair. Akara winced, reaching aside to pull the blankets over them both, Raistlin already shivering faintly in the morning air. "I'm going to be sore in places I never thought I'd be sore in," she grumbled, but there was no annoyance in it and she wrapped her one arm back around his shoulders as he lay wheezing atop her.

"I am going..." wheeze-rattle, Raistlin's lungs chimed in, "to be sore in places I did not know I _had!_" But when Akara looked down at his head on her shoulder, he had a faint smile on his face, and she laughed tiredly.

Several long moments went by, Akara relaxing under his weight and musing to herself that perhaps beds had their purposes, when Raistlin spoke again, "Akara..." he murmured more soberly, "I will not hold you to... to what I said..."

Akara thought on this for a long moment, then shook her head. "When I first broke into the Tower, years ago, and I snuck into your bedroom, I thought... well. There were a lot of legends about you, even here in Krontis, about how clever and evil and powerful you were, but none of them ever mentioned that you were beautiful, too. I was so surprised..." realizing that Raistlin had gone very still and was watching her intently, Akara swallowed.

"Well, I almost woke you up, just so I could see your eyes before you killed me," she admitted, "I had a pretty strong death-wish back then, and I thought they would be amazing looking. I never, _ever_ thought we'd... talk, someday, or travel together, or... or... you know. _This._" Raistlin was still _in_ her, for crying out loud, it didn't need to be specified! "All I thought was, 'I don't think it would be so bad at all, to be killed by this one,' and you know... I guess if it wouldn't have been so bad to get killed by you, maybe it's not so bad to be engaged to you either." Realizing how bad that sounded, she continued quickly, "--My fate got tied to you when I first saw you, one way or another. It's really just a matter of how it all ends up. So, whatever... if you want to be betrothed... okay. I don't understand why, but okay." Though she _had_ to add, "But... why?"

"I will not lower either of us by doing... this, else-wise," Raistlin whispered tiredly, "You are not some... some random girl, and I am not my brother. That sort of behavior has always repulsed me, the way he would just... like... like common animals! And he always claimed to be in love, but then we would travel on, and his heart would mend -- oh did it ever mend quickly! -- and there would be another girl. And another, and another... that finally stopped, when he became involved with the Waylan girl. They married, I have heard." The mage reached one slender, slightly-trembling hand up out of the blankets to pull a lock of her hair to where he could toy with it against her bandage-wrapped chest.

"If it is good enough for my brother to marry the one woman who managed to keep sway over him for longer than a single town, then why should I be any different? I will not give up my magic any more than you would give up being a thief, but neither of us seems to expect that." Raistlin played idly with the lock of hair, threading it between his fingers and then letting it slip free again, "You are immune to my vision -- indeed, you are the only person I have _never_ seen as a corpse! The guardians know you, and you have been in the Tower more than any living being save for myself and my apprentice -- who I am confident you will give _fits_ to. You would be free to come and go as you please, Akara, I would only ask that you come back to _me_ as home, and not the attic of an inn or the branch of a tree."

"You could have that without m-marrying me," Akara countered in a quiet voice, "shit, Majere, _marriage?_ That's a big step to take just for--" she was interrupted as he lunged upwards along her body, sensitized nerves firing as he slipped free with the sudden movement, his tongue plunging between her lips in mimicry of what they had just done. Akara gasped softly into the attack, her face heating. There was _fluid_ between her legs, she realized dimly, they'd really gone _that_ far!

"I desire you as I should a wife," Raistlin whispered, once she had been sufficiently interrupted and he set his head back on her shoulder, "and so I desire that you _be_ my wife. That is all the reason you need." It was a supremely arrogant thing to say, but Raistlin was a supremely arrogant man a lot of the time. Akara stared down at the top of his head, panting for breath.

"...Shit, you're crazy," she eventually muttered, but didn't actually protest.

Raistlin merely smiled slyly against her shoulder, his fingers tangling up in the lock of her hair as though to hold her close by it and prevent her escape. "Rest, Akara," he murmured softly, "we have trying times ahead of us still..."

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
**Review-replies can be found at AroWrites dot Net**

Support this series if you enjoy it; review!  
Not only does it encourage my writing (and eventually bring me back to it if I've stopped), but it helps the story gather new readers when they see the review-count compared to the chapter-count. More readers means more reviews, and eventually... world domination! Ah ah ah! (...Right. ;D)


	27. Time's Passage

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 01.10.2010:

This one's kinda short, but the story is starting to wrap-up and the plot has come a-knockin' again. I have some ideas for a fifth story already (dear god) but I won't start writing it until I have the plot solidified first. TAF 4 really suffered, in my own opinion, from my sloppiness of years ago combined with the long pause... I'm glad to have folks disagree with me on this, but it's still something that bothers me.

Of course, part of this is probably just my anxiety at pushing out into another genre (romance) altogether, especially coming from a darkfic/horror/suspense background, but I still can't believe I'm writing a romance! I'm an even more cynical bastard than I was _before_ the long pause in my writing, so it boggles me all the more these days. But it's good, I suppose, to push out of my comfort zone, although it's definitely true that I'm much more comfortable scuttling around in the shadows of post-apocalyptic horror. I'm... not sure what that says about me, haha...

Anyway, this chapter hung out on my computer for a day or so and showed no sign of growing past the fourth page, so here it is!

_Can I hush my conscience around you  
If I could take it all back  
Should I lie, and suffocate my impulses  
I'll never leave them behind,  
Will I  
-- Etro Anime - Purest One_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
TAF: Face to Face  
**Time's Passage**

Akara didn't sleep, despite how oddly worn-out she felt, she just stared up at the ceiling for a long time and let her thoughts drift. She'd just woken up shortly before... _this_, after all, and she hadn't been tired the _last_ time she'd laid down with him either! A nervous shift of her legs made her face heat, feeling his bare hips against her thighs, and the mess they'd made between them.

Raistlin _was_ sleeping, quite soundly in fact, utterly worn out from their... exertion. Akara felt her face warm further as she glanced down to her good shoulder, where the archmagus' head rested and his strangely-colored hand remained curled in her hair, the straight black lock curled around his finger like a ring. Her brow furrowed. Why _was_ he so insistent on this?

He'd first brought up 'pretend' courting her when they had stood in the attic of the _Golden Hourglass_, before he'd set foot on Krontis. It probably wasn't for access to the city, although with its odd, other-world magics and steam-driven machines, Akara wouldn't be surprised if that wasn't a part of it _now_. Why before, though?

...Maybe Raistlin was just lonely?

The thought came out of nowhere, and Akara stared down at his peacefully-sleeping face with some surprise, thinking of all the times she'd snuck into his tower or wherever he was during his birthing day or yule. Never really around people -- Akara had never even _seen_ the twin brother she'd heard so much about. Acolytes in the great library hardly counted, they were just there to -- nervously! -- do their jobs while Raistlin browsed the shelves...

In all the years that she'd kept an ear out for rumors and information on her obsession, she had never heard of any romances involving the mage. There was one of him having a daughter, and how that had supposedly come about, but even if it was true -- he'd been sucked into it by a spell and then made to forget! That was not the kind of thing that kept one's heart warm at night, all told.

She remembered the kid she'd met in the dream, the bright but cynical young man who had wanted to know her _name_. Even though she was a thief and that had alarmed him at first, he'd followed after her on the rope bridge until she'd noticed, and then had asked to know it. _No one_ did that, not after finding out her profession, unless maybe to enter her into a list for the guards.

It was easy, in so many ways, to forget that Raistlin was human, too, even for Akara.

Holding her breath in case the action woke him up, Akara carefully threaded the fingers of her one hand into _Raistlin's_ hair, pillowed on her shoulder, surprised as always at the softness of the prematurely gray-white strands. Golden eyes blinked open, fogged and unfocused with sleep, but then slipped immediately closed again, Raistlin only half-waking at the odd gesture from the thief. He was weirdly comfortable around her, or so it seemed to Akara.

"Why me?" Akara whispered to herself, but her thoughts answered her easily enough, now. _Who else?_

Frowning slightly at the weirdness of the entire situation, Akara shut her eyes and zoned back out for a while. She still didn't sleep, having had too much of that lately, but she allowed herself to half-doze until the sun was high up in the sky and the room was brightly lit through the windows. Then, when she shifted her legs again and felt something _dried_ pull at her skin, she grimaced and found she couldn't lay around with him any more, no matter how pleasant it was.

Carefully moving to extract herself, the thief caught herself staring into hourglass pupils. Sharp, aware, focused. "How long have you been awake?" Akara asked, freezing in place as Raistlin's fingers tightened around her lock of hair.

"Not for long," he murmured. His grip only tightened further when she reached to unwind his fingers, his knuckles going pale. "Are you running away now, Akara?" Raistlin asked, his tone softly dangerous.

"No," the thief muttered, "I just need to clean up, I'm _gross_."

The mage snorted quietly and released his hold, his other hand skimming lightly down the outside of her thigh as she slipped out from under him. "I disagree," Raistlin murmured distractedly, raising his hand to look at it as though it may have changed, "but as the lady wishes..." Disconcertingly, his gaze went to _her_ as she squirmed out from under the blankets, looking both intrigued and a little disturbed, as though what they had _done_ was only now striking him as well.

Akara frowned, and pulled one of the blankets off the bed, concealing herself clumsily with it with her one arm. "The bug-under-glass sensation's getting pretty aggravating," she muttered, looking away, "can you stop staring at me like that?" Then, holding the blanket as well as she could, she went to her packs on unsteady legs and half-fell, half-knelt to look for another set of clothes. Her few remaining sets had been getting washed while she was unconscious, the clean clothes folded and replaced in her packs. She had a suspicion that it was Raistlin putting them back into her bags whenever the house staff brought the clean laundry back. The idea didn't bother her nearly as bad as it would have if the staff had been doing it... her stuff was pretty safe around the black-robe.

"I apologize," Raistlin said quietly from the bed, though she could tell without looking that he was still watching her, "the intention is not to make you uncomfortable," the 'usually' or 'this time' hardly needed to be said. Akara _knew_ he did it quite deliberately, sometimes! The guy was practically famous for his creepy stares! Muttering in much the same vein -- albeit well under her breath -- Akara staggered off to the bathing room, Raistlin's stare easily felt on her back until she closed the door behind herself.

Akara slumped against the door for a moment, then steeled herself and pushed onward, letting the blanket drop and setting her clothes on the stool left in the small room. She found the nearby bucket and filled it with cold water from the porcelain tub's spout, and sat on the edge of the giant basin, feet inside, to clean up. The thief paused, staring in dismay at the mess she was in, and several long minutes went by. She didn't bother to look up when the door opened behind her... frankly, knowing Raistlin, she'd half-expected it.

"I threw coals into the water upstairs," Raistlin murmured, reaching past her to dump the bucket of cold water out, flip the toggle that blocked the drain, and then let hot water start pouring into the basin around her feet. The archmage had done this often enough now that it was effortless. His own hastily thrown-on robe whispered in the air as it slid to the floor behind her, and his hands on her elbow coaxed her into the basin as he climbed in with her. Akara shuddered, relieved as the hot water did its work on sore muscles, dimly surprised at the new... normalcy of this, and she lay back against the frail mage's strange heat as he unwrapped her shoulder, letting her trapped arm un-cramp into the water as well.

_How fucking domestic,_ Akara thought with some annoyance at herself, but she still closed her eyes, not saying a word, and slowly relaxed. She didn't have to see Raistlin's smug half-smile to know it was there, but it was awfully hard to resent it right now... hard to do much at all, really, other than let her head rest on a bony shoulder

* * *

A week went by. Then another.

Another, and another...

Eventually, Akara's arm was finally in a sling instead of wrapped immobile beneath bandages, and eventually Raistlin stopped tripping over her feet during the agreed-upon dancing lessons. This was a good thing, in Akara's estimation, because Raistlin was _heavy_ for such a skinny guy. Even someone as frail and as thin as the archmage could hurt when he stepped on the top of your foot or accidentally kicked your ankle!

As for the sex, and even kissing, they both seemed to lack the confidence to go there again. Sometimes Raistlin would look up from his studying and find Akara staring at him contemplatively, and sometimes Akara would glance away from her current drawing -- often of Majere himself -- to find the mage standing much nearer than she expected, his expression conflicted.

Always, the one caught would look away, or bring up a different topic. Always, the situation was averted before it could begin anew. But it grew closer... and closer... Akara's look turning sharp, predatory; Raistlin's presence a brush against the back of her neck while she wasn't looking. Either one looming a little too close, just a little too long, leaning just a little too near...

Oh, but it was as though they were teenagers, awkwardly stumbling around one other on the morning after, even though it had been weeks. Dancing only grew more frustrating as Raistlin mastered her lessons, their bodies learning to move in synch in at least _one_ manner... this was often when things grew closest, when breaths would mingle and then -- nothing. Either Akara would freak out from her nerves and say something insane and trivial and pull back, or Raistlin would pull suddenly away with a sneer or a snarl twisting his features, some unknown conflict sparking behind his eyes. Between the two of them, they were doomed to a _lot_ of frustration.

It was at the end of one such lesson that _it_ happened.

Raistlin turned away to open the door the the practice room, preparing to step out ahead of her as he usually did, heading off any potential encounters between Akara and Victoria. But this time, he stepped _back_ through, almost running Akara over, several men piling in after him, the glint of a long and wicked knife beneath Raistlin's upturned chin.

"I hear anything remotely magical coming out of your mouth," the man with the knife hissed, backing Raistlin against a nearby wall, "and I'll slice you ear-to-ear in a heartbeat, just as promised. Get his hands," the last was directed at two other men, who moved to do as told, each taking a thin wrist. The remaining few men advanced on Akara, backing her away from the mage.

Akara stared in numb shock at the masked faces -- at the _masks_ themselves -- and felt the blood drain from her face. "The Mockers," she whispered softly, eyes wide, "the moons-damned fucking _Mockers_." The Thieves Guild of Krontis, _her_ guild; formed out of the throw-aways and rejects of the city, just like her. Some of them had taught her things that had made her a better thief; much more often she'd taught them all, some of them having never picked a single pocket before, and all in the name of scraping out their own way of life. Freedom.

This had never involved holding knives to throats, or -- "Just as promised?" Akara asked numbly.

"Yeah," one of the men looked up from wrapping a long strip of cloth around Raistlin's slender fingers, immobilizing them from any intricate gestures. They knew how to handle mages, she saw with a sinking feeling, something _she_ had never taught them. "Wouldn't be the first black-robe we sliced this month." _The bodies at the gate and in the courtyard,_ Akara realized dimly, backing away, _the note!_

"Who the fuck are you?" she demanded, trying to side-step her would-be herders and finding them eager to block her view of the archmage, "You'd better not hurt him!" Clenching her good hand into a fist, she took a swing at the nearest masked face, trying to get around them -- and something solid hit the back of her head, sending her staggering forward a step. The man she'd tried to hit caught her, and twisted her free arm behind her back sharply, the arm in the sling tensing painfully in reaction. "Shit!"

"We know who you are," the man with the knife to Raistlin's throat said calmly, "so we'll let you accompany us, unharmed, while we deliver Majere here to our leader."

"Your leader!" Akara hissed, trying to kick the man holding her in the shin. He just twisted her arm further, making her yelp and freeze in place. It was going to come out of its socket! "I'm your fucking leader if you have one!"

"You _were_," another man corrected, stepping up behind Akara, the anger in his voice apparent, "but then you left us... for _him_." Another sharp rap to the back of the head, and the thief slumped, her consciousness faltering, slipping away. The last thing she saw before darkness took her was a brief glimpse of Raistlin's thin face above the knife. He looked pale.

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
**Review-replies can be found at AroWrites dot Net**

Support this series if you enjoy it; review!  
Not only does it encourage my writing (and eventually bring me back to it if I've stopped), but it helps the story gather new readers when they see the review-count compared to the chapter-count. More readers means more reviews, and eventually... world domination! Ah ah ah! (...Right. ;D)


	28. The Checkmate

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 01.13.2010:

Apologies about the cliffhangers, there will be a few of them as things wrap up. Lots of tension! I expect this fic to end at around chapter 30, though it may end up with 29 or 31 or some other weird number like that. We'll see how things progress.

On an amusing note, when I showed chapter 22 to an old roleplay friend of mine who's never read TAF ("Look! I did het! With a boy and a... _girl_!"), their comment was that there sure were a lot of exclamation points. My response was a shrug and a "Well, that's Akara..." It's so true, but I figured you guys would get a kick out of it. ;) Raistlin is Master of Past and Present; Akara is queen of four-letter words and exclamation points. I guess _her_ title would be something like _#$%^!_ if she had one, gibberish to signify that it could be pretty much anything there. ;)

Much love for all the reviewers, you guys are what keeps me writing and coming back. :D

**EDIT:** Oh, and speaking of reviews, Eddie got the 200th for TAF 04 on the last chapter! Yay Eddie! :3

_I'm haunted  
By the hallways in this tiny room,  
The echoes there of me and you!  
The voices that are carrying this tune!  
Ba-da pa pa, ba-da pa pa...  
-- Poe - Haunted_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
TAF: Face to Face  
**The Checkmate**

Akara didn't remain knocked out for long. Most people didn't, she remembered dimly, recalling a lesson Alleyana had been giving to younger guards when she had been a kid. The Weaponsmaster had been forbidden to teach her... _much_... but had let her watch her classes sometimes as a place to escape to. Sometimes she'd used Akara to demonstrate on, and sometimes she'd given casual advice on the way the future thief landed or rolled or how she handled her own momentum...

Alley had not taught Akara to be a thief or even to be a fighter -- something she still was not -- but she had certainly provided the ground-work for a lot of the weird acrobatics she'd pulled off over the years. Even that flip she'd done over Victoria's head when her shoulder had been smashed... ah. Right. That's right.

People had tried to kill her. People _had_ killed her childhood friend while he'd held them off from her. Shot full of holes, Tannusen had blown himself up in her mother's tomb. She was currently slung over the shoulder of someone in a _different_ group of people who would undoubtedly try to kill her... _her_... she twisted her neck with too much effort, looking for _him_, even her disjointed thoughts unsure what he _was_ to her other than -- _Majere._

That Akara was slung over someone's shoulder, being carried through dark city alleyways, _probably_ should have concerned her more than locating the golden-skinned archmage, but she was _Akara_ and her priorities were never known for making that much sense. There -- there he was, being hauled along by two men who had their shoulders under his arms, his hands tightly bound. Akara squinted in the dark, her vision fuzzier than normal thanks to what was probably a minor concussion. Hadn't she heard Jones say one time that the more concussions you got, the easier it was to get more? Or had that been something else? Bah.

Resolutely, the thief began to flail, her legs kicking against the front of the man carrying her, her good arm smacking him on the back of the thigh, her other arm trapped between him and herself in its sling. "Oih!" she shouted as loudly as she could with a shoulder shoved into her stomach, "Let me down, you creep!" As she raised her ruckus, she kept her eyes fixed on Raistlin's down-turned head, noting its lack of movement in her direction, the way his boots drug on the ground. They'd drugged him silly. Obviously they'd decided not to transport him the same way they had her slung around, maybe for fear of his lungs giving out before they had a chance to cut his head off.

The man carrying her ignored her. One could get away with that, in certain back streets of Krontis, at least if the one shouting while you carried them off was a non-mage. Akara flailed harder for a few moments, until it started to hurt her bad shoulder rather a lot, and then gave up and fumed. She briefly considered biting her captor on the ass, but then decided quite sagely that it would never wash out.

The danger of the situation would have made most normal people silent and still in terror. Akara simply wasn't most people, though she'd had her fair share of silent terror in the last few months. She couldn't run even if she got away from this guy, not while they had Majere, she couldn't fight and she couldn't do much of anything, all-told, about their impending doom. So, in a fashion more suited to herself of years past, she decided to ignore it. _For now._ Mind-numbing fright could (and undoubtedly _would_) come later.

"You know," she said quite conversationally to any of the masked men who might be listening, "you can let me walk. It's not like I don't know where we're going..."

Silence.

"What the fuck is wrong with you anyway?" Akara asked next, some of her tension leaking into her voice, "you're _killing_ people now. I never taught anyone how to do that! _I_ don't even know how to do that!"

"Are you afraid we'll kill your... betrothed?" The man who had knocked her out sneered, stepping into her line of sight behind the man carrying her, blocking her view of Majere, although she'd let her head drop and so mostly just saw the guy's boots at first as he walked along.

She raised her head briefly to look at his mask, wondering if she'd recognize him since he clearly knew her, but no such luck. Not after so many years. Her face heated as his words sank into her concussion-addled mind. "Wait, what?" Akara blinked, "How many people did he _tell_?" Granted, it had been weeks and weeks and weeks since she'd agreed, in the heat of a moment that didn't seem destined to be repeated, to consider them betrothed. But since then he'd been spending half his time with _Victoria_ of all people and Akara had sort of figured the idea had been dropped, no matter how close he stood and how conflicted he sometimes looked when he didn't know she was watching...

The man's smirk, visible beneath the cut line of the carved wooden mask and thin scarf, was not a friendly one. "Oh, just enough for it to reach us," he said, and then reached, his pace matching the man who carried her, to grab her chin and twist her head up further. "_Are_ you scared that we'll kill him?" he mused, "You really should be."

Akara's response was an eloquent one. She grabbed his wrist with her free hand and snapped her head down and _bit_ him, and then watched as he fell back several steps, shaking his bruised fingers out. "Was that really necessary?" the man asked impatiently, and Akara simply bared her teeth at him in what she knew looked like a crazy grin. Sometimes, she'd been told, she had Alleyana's 'crazy eye', only it wasn't very threatening coming from the mostly-pacifistic thief. It was just... crazy. She was, despite her budding emotional maturity in the face of trauma, still a complete lunatic when you got right down to it, and she knew it.

"You threatening Majere just for my benefit?" she demanded as they carried the two captives past her tree in the abandoned courtyard. The one she'd fled to the night Victoria had come back, after noticing that Majere had _legs_. Oh yes, Akara knew where they were going. "This some sick attempt at punishment or some such shit? 'Cuz, you know, I'd have been gone by now anyway. It's not his fault."

And it wasn't. It had been the crazy old man with the rumpled old hat who had offered her the chance. It had been herself who had taken it. Raistlin hadn't been involved at all, except as the victim of what she had always assumed to be some kind of weird godly prank.

_'Why would I want to go to Palanthas at all?'  
'My dear, you will see when you get there. When you enter that tower, your life will change as will the very world.'  
'Why would I want to change the word?'  
'Well, why not? Certainly you're not _busy_...'  
'You're crazy, old man. A total nutcase, that's what you are.'  
'Aah, so you'll take my offer?'  
'...Absolutely.'_

Akara shook herself out of the memory and shoved against the back under her arms as she was carried through a door, "You hear me, asshole? It's not his damn fault! He wasn't the one who got me out of Krontis!" Despite her insane bravado -- or was it brave insanity? -- her eyes settled nervously on the archmage as they drug him through the door after her, and she could feel the bottom of her stomach drop out as she was set down in an alcove of the room and a barred door was locked shut between herself and the mage. Metal and stone, and she had a front row seat to whatever they _did_ to him as they hauled the black-robe to the center of the dimly-lit room and then dropped him to the floor.

She lunged forward and grabbed the cold bars of the door with her one useable hand as they wrenched his arms behind him and bound them together, Raistlin's drugged form stirring only sluggishly at the rough treatment. The man who seemed to be running the show stepped up beside the bars, putting any thoughts of picking the lock out of her head rather quickly. "Ah," said the masked man, "but who kept you from coming back?" Akara's hand on the bars went white-knuckled. "Yes," the man murmured, "that is what we thought."

"Fuck you," spat the thief, and she lunged forward abruptly, jamming her injured shoulder and the connected arm against the bars as her other arm snaked between them and jerked his mask off in the span of three heartbeats. She counted. Akara felt her face pale, and her eyes narrow, staring at the revealed face. "In all seriousness," she stepped back, dangling the mask from her fingertips, "And I mean this in the most constructive way possible; _fuck you._"

_Who_ he was was no significant discovery, there was no dramatic gasp at the reveal and she really wasn't terribly shocked at the individual. What sucked about it, was that he'd been part of _her_ group, unlike the men whose voices she couldn't recognize, from earlier. This guy, who'd been a teenager the last time she'd seen him, _should_ have known better than to go down this path! "I never taught you violence, that was never part of the Mockers!"

"Some things," the man said mildly, curling his own fingers around the bars and staring oddly at her in the dim light, and her gaze slid from him to the mage beyond his shoulder, whose eyes had finally opened, "don't need to be _taught._"

***.***  
Raistlin Majere had not been drugged into nearly the stupor that he pretended as he was hauled along; he was perfectly conscious through-out the exchange between his thief and their captors, only moving when dropped out of a certainty that his nose had been broken against the floor. It wasn't, he realized through the fog of pain, but he could taste blood from his split lip as the brutes behind him wrenched his arms back and bound them. They thankfully didn't think to re-check the wrapping around his fingers, slowly loosened during the trip here, too distracted by Akara's mad lunge for their leader's masked face and her snarled words after.

She was, if nothing else, excellent at creating a diversion. He met her eyes across the room and blinked slowly, nodding imperceptibly against the floor, his fingers still. Raistlin couldn't risk them noticing what he was doing, after all. Akara, he knew from one fever-dreamed experience that had ended in his teeth scarring her wrist, would have been smarter than they were being. She wouldn't have been distracted by the 'show' going on across the room.

A boot in his ribs rolled him onto his side, and his face wrenched in pain as the bindings dug into his wrists. This man, possibly their new leader, knelt down over him and unsheathed a large knife, the blade glinting in the light. Raistlin stared at it, his careful cunning plans temporarily forgotten.

Was he going to lose his life after all? He jerked back from the knife as the man grabbed his hair, lowering the sharpened edge... he neatly sliced a lock of gray-white hair free, and then sat back -- still crouched over Raistlin's helpless form, to re-sheath the knife and tightly weave the chunk of his hair together at the ends. Raistlin stared, morbidly fascinated, and then let his gaze drift back over to Akara. He _could_ be killed, he was mortal. The greatest mage to ever walk Krynn was still but a mage, subject to the weaknesses of mages and men alike! Would he die here? Would his carefully-laid plans ensnare him and drag him screaming into the dark?

The man's thickly-bearded face crinkled into a gleaming-toothed grin, and the archmage jerked his gaze back to the rotting visage above him, realizing very belatedly that this man hadn't bothered to put on a mask. "Hello," the man's breath was rank with the decay Raistlin could see in his bones. "It's about time we met, Majere." his gaze followed where Raistlin's had been, taking in Akara's frightened face from across the room before sliding back to the mage beneath him.

***.***  
_What?_ Akara jerked in surprise behind the bars, staring at the tableau a moment before finally voicing her thoughts, "...The fuck are you doing? Get off of him!" Raistlin had never looked so frail as he suddenly did, his slender form trapped beneath the armored bulk of the kneeling man who had taken her place. She didn't like this at _all_, he definitely seemed like a killer.

"I'm only doing what you should have," the man sneered, and held out the lock of hair to the man beside Akara's prison, who stepped forward and took it between his fingertips as though it might burn him. He turned and flung it at her between the bars, and Akara caught it, staring at the gray-white hair for a moment. A memento? Her vision blurred. No one could see Raistlin's hands, moving steadily in their bonds, no one could see the loosening knots -- not even Akara. All she knew was that these men _would_ kill Raistlin, and she'd buy him as much time as she could, just...

She slipped her left arm from its sling, and lunged forward against the bars again, taking the man by surprise a second time. Akara looped the scarf of his mask around his neck with her good arm and hauled him against the bars with a dull rattle, her bad arm sliding around his waist and grabbing his knife from his belt, though the action sent white-hot pain through her shoulder. The man she'd known as a teenager got his own arm through the bars and punched her in the face, knocking her back, her grip on the scarf slipping--

Akara still had the knife. Resolutely, she held its tip up to her own throat, Raistlin's hair dangling from her fingers. It wouldn't take much speed or strength to punch it through her own flesh, something one might expect someone with such a crazy gleam in their eye to go through with. Just one push... she was utterly over-wrought, the remembered scent of burning flesh in her nose, the remembered dream-sensation of slitting throats in her fingers. She knew how to finish it fast; had learned how in the memories of Grissom Krinir. The knife gleamed in the light, the angle perfect for a fast and messy end.

***.***  
The room... paused, eyes fixed on the thief. Even Raistlin hesitated a moment, then worked on his bonds even more furiously, taking the diversion and hoping that was all it was... "I'll do it," he heard her say, and the tone of her voice sent a chill down his spine. The man crouched over him jerked away from him, getting to his feet and walking to the bars of Akara's prison. "I'll fucking do it! You can't teach me a lesson if I'm _dead_, now can you? Not much revenge if I just end it, is there!"

_***.***  
Please,_ Akara thought desperately at Raistlin on the floor, _don't make me watch you die...! Live for at least another few minutes! You were never supposed to be the one to bite it!_ Her grip tightened on the knife as the bearded man approached the cell, and she felt warm blood trickle down her throat as he reached for the lock to the door. "If you think I'm bluffing..." she hissed, and her arm tightened, preparing to do what she _had_ to do...

The world behind the bearded man exploded, shoving him against the bars just as the lock clicked open, holding the door shut with the force of it, searing, burning, there was terrible _screaming_ and Akara dropped the knife with a dull clatter, clasping her hands over her mouth in horror. Against the bars, the two men died in agony, the white-hot flames licking around them but their heat not _quite_ reaching past the metal to her, held back by the will of the one who created them. Akara stared into the eyes of the other man, the one she'd known when he was a teenager, and saw them glass over as the back of his head caved from the heat.

When it was over, she dropped to the floor, the bodies remaining plastered -- nearly melted -- to the bars. Around their smoking legs, she dimly noticed Raistlin on his side, his bloodied wrists torn free of their bindings and the cloth around his fingers, spread in her direction, unraveled. She just stared, unfocused with shock and more than a little horror as he panted raggedly against the floor, the shudders of his magic coursing through his thin frame, and then slowly pushed himself to his knees, and then to his feet. Everyone else in the room had, wisely, fled.

She kept her hand clasped over her mouth and nose, now as much for the smell as her horror, as he slowly walked over the scorched stone floor toward her, took hold of the door in one slender, golden-skinned hand, and gave it a savage _jerk_ toward him. The bodies disengaged with a sound beyond description, strips of skin and flesh remaining behind. Akara shut her eyes, hunching over, shaking, feeling unbelievably ill.

When Raistlin's too-strong fingers closed around her good arm and hauled her upright, she damn near vomited on him.

Slowly, he drew her to him, "Remember your promise," the archmage murmured into her ear, sliding an arm around her shoulders as the world dipped and swayed and then _lurched_. The world dropped from around them, and when it re-asserted itself it was a different room, in a different location, and she swallowed her bile and nearly blacked out from the sensation.

--Akara jerked right back to reality, however, when she was shoved brutally away and looked up to see Raistlin snarling, face livid. The hands that caught her unstable form were unwelcome, too-tight against her injured shoulder and even tighter against the other, like the owner _wanted_ to hear the bones _grind_. She gasped, reeling, and when she looked to see who it was she jerked away and fell to the floor, tearing out of the vile woman's grasp.

Victoria Krinir.

"You were more correct than you knew, Victoria," Raistlin said quietly, rage hardening his voice so that it wasn't quite its usual whisper or murmur. Akara stared up at him at that _tone_, wide-eyed. "She is a traitor... her Mocker friends nearly killed me as promised!" And he thrust his hands out, showing his bloodied wrists where the ties had dug in as he'd struggled out of them. Those hands shook, the slender fingers clenched so hard that the knuckles were pale.

Victoria's gaze slid from those wrists to Akara, and a slow smile spread across her lips. "So," she crooned, as Akara lunged to her feet and backed away from the two black-robes, eyes darting around the room. It was the library! "She shows her true colors at last."

"I had nothing to do with that and you know it!" Akara snarled, bumping unexpectedly into a wall. She wasn't sure what _part_ of the library they were in, and wasn't as familiar with the room as one would expect. The thief hadn't been allowed to read, after all. As a non-mage born to a mage family, that was customary for Krontis. It made the non-mages easier to control when they were married off. Akara shook her head to clear it, hissing at the pain from her earlier concussion. Her shoulder felt like it was on _fire_.

Victoria began to chant spidery words, but Raistlin held up a hand. "I have a much better idea, my love, watch..." and then Raistlin was advancing, a flick of his wrist letting a familiar silver knife drop into his waiting fingers as Akara shrank back against the wall, sliding along it, eyes still scanning for a way out--!

And then, Raistlin Majere lunged forward--

And Raistlin Majere _stabbed her_, the knife sliding through her side--

And Akara Krinir froze, terrified, horrified, as he closed even further in, pinning her to the wall with his body and his other hand--

The knife slid _deeper_, until the delicate hilt pressed against blood-drenched cloth and she felt a shattered exhale burst from her lungs, and Raistlin smiled, his eyes glittering like mirrors.

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
**Review-replies can be found at AroWrites dot Net**

Support this series if you enjoy it; review!  
Not only does it encourage my writing (and eventually bring me back to it if I've stopped), but it helps the story gather new readers when they see the review-count compared to the chapter-count. More readers means more reviews, and eventually... world domination! Ah ah ah! (...Right. ;D)


	29. In Love, In Sanity

A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 01.17.2010:

Brainfear asked for some kind of definition between POVs when I switch them within the same scene. I felt this was perfectly valid, so I'll be putting in * * * until ffnet decides to stop allowing asterisks (again? I seem to remember them not working for a few years, just like ~ and ^ didn't. Sigh, ffnet). I would probably just toss in an extra linebreak in that spot if ffnet let me, or if the paragraphs were indented I'd put in one linebreak between, but alas. Asterisks seems to be the cleanest method. I've edited chapter 28 to have the new system and should be using it from here out for quick POV-shifts, or something else similar if not. :)

There will be a TAF 05, though it won't get put out as fast as the second half of TAF 04 has been. One chapter every two or three days is a quick path to burnout for me, which I want to avoid. I may not start TAF 05 immediately, however, as I want to figure out the full plot to use first. I have several ideas, but some of them cancel each other out, so I need to pick and choose from among them. Some of these ideas already have seeds planted into _this_ story, waiting in case I decide to water them sometime in the future.

TAF 04 is not yet done, but it's getting very close. I estimate that this is probably the second to last chapter. I've also been slowly doodling on old TAF artwork of mine and have finished re-working "Mine", which can be seen on my deviantart account (linked from my ffnet profile). Other pictures are going to be fixed as well, such as Raistlin's bone structure in "Only Now", and some new pictures will be getting sketched up in the future. I lament the lack of visuals, so I've been at work on that, too. ;)

Apologies for the super-mega-ultra-long author's note this time. Thank you as ever for the reviews, guys, they help keep my courage up for these tricky, tricky closing chapters! No pressure, right? Right? :D;;

_Take me home, take me home and leave me there  
Think I'm going to cry, I don't know why  
Think I'm going to sing myself a lullaby  
Feel free to listen, feel free to... stare...  
-- Ani DiFranco - Cradle And All_

**05.02.2010: All scene-dividers have been eaten, again, on all of my stories. I give up. _Please_ just go read this story on arowrites dot net where it hasn't been made incoherent; I am unable to keep up with this site's stupidity.**

---- ----: -x- :---- ----  
TAF: Face to Face  
**In Love, In Sanity**

_And then, Raistlin Majere lunged forward--_

_And Raistlin Majere _stabbed her_, the knife sliding through her side--_

_And Akara Krinir froze, terrified, horrified, as he closed even further in, pinning her to the wall with his body and his other hand--_

_The knife slid _deeper_, until the delicate hilt pressed against blood-drenched cloth and she felt a shattered exhale burst from her lungs, and Raistlin smiled, his eyes glittering like mirrors._

Krinir thieves counted in heartbeats. That was just how they did things. When they snuck, stole, skulked, and struck, their hearts beat quite slowly for the situation, almost as though they slept, speeding up only a little when they performed their acrobatic stunts and only beating _fast_ while they ran, laughing, into the night. Or so it had always felt to Akara, anyway. When she'd danced with Raistlin, it had sped up. When they had done... _things_, it had sped up a _lot_. Each heated glance, each teasing moment, and her heart had sped up like few things could make it, pounding away in her ribcage and making her breath catch with its fury.

In this very moment, her heart beat so fast it _skipped_ in its rhythm and the pain in Akara's side was echoed dimly by the pain in her chest, the thief staring in numb horror into reflective golden eyes. She sucked a breath in, wondering if her lungs would fill with blood, the pain pain pain _pain pain **pain**_ was almost _too much_ and she raised her shaking hands to Raistlin's thin chest. A normal person would have shoved him back, a _sane_ person would have grabbed at his knife hand, screamed -- anything. All _Akara_ could do was knead weakly at his clothes, trying to breathe, eyes locked on his and her heart skipped again when his smile only widened a fraction, the split in his lip bleeding a little.

The world had slowed down to a crawl for her. Everything grew hazy and distant, the blood roaring in her ears drowning out the world.

Akara watched Raistlin pluck her right hand -- her good hand -- from his chest, pinning it to the wall above her head, knitting their fingers together as though the blade he held stabbed into her flesh was something else entirely, as though his legs tangled with hers were for a _different_ purpose. She saw his lips move, and wondered dimly if it was a spell. Would he finish her off with his magic? Akara's left hand clung weakly to his clothing, the thief unsure as to why she couldn't -- wouldn't -- scream. Didn't people scream during this sort of thing?

"Look," she heard him whisper, dimly, through the haze, "come and look, Victoria. Her terror... ah, she never expected _this_, now did she? Look..." Akara felt her jaw open as she struggled to breathe, shrinking back as she saw Victoria approach, though the woman stayed well back, looking at her from around Raistlin's head. And then he released her hand and slid his down low, smearing her blood on his fingers and then raising them almost reverently to Akara's open lips.

Repulsed, the thief turned her head away, gasping weakly, but his hand followed, smearing the too-hot blood against her mouth. Victoria drew nearer as Raistlin pushed gently on the knife, making her gasp in pain, and sealed his lips over hers in a savage kiss, claiming the blood with his lips and tongue and clashing his teeth against hers as she thrashed weakly against the wall. She couldn't _breathe!_ And then Akara felt, her skin crawling with unspeakable revulsion, another hand -- not Raistlin's -- slide between them, slipping down to the mage's hips, lower...

Victoria was feeling him up while _she_ bled out to die, trapped against the wall by the man she still _loved_; couldn't push away; couldn't struggle against; her lips softening as she simply gave _up_. Akara was going to die. She'd been right, so long ago, that it would be Raistlin who would kill her someday. He was killing her and she was _letting_ him, and her legs would have given out from the pain and black despair if he hadn't held her pinned tightly to the wall.

The knife was pulled free. It hurt worse, somehow, on the way out than it had on the way in.

Akara waited, breathless from the pain against Raistlin's lips, for it to pierce again.

It didn't.

The hand between them jerked, and there was a strangled scream, the odd half-scent of an old spell coming undone hitting the air. Akara re-opened her eyes just in time to see the knife buried between Victoria's ribs as the woman staggered backwards, grasping at Raistlin's black clothing. There was a grim smile on Majere's blood-stained lips as their kiss broke, but he stayed between the other black-robe and Akara, holding her up, shielding her, the scent of magic stronger yet, building like a bomb--

Over both mage's shoulders, Akara saw, almost as though in slow motion, as part of the shadows detached from the rest and strode forward silently, a gleaming broadsword held tightly in one gloved hand. The blade came up -- and then it plunged through the back of Victoria's throat, sliding crimson out the front as the woman half-crumbled in place from the blow, words of magic turning into a rough gurgle, hands lifting to the blade in shock--

Alleyana gave the weapon a savage _twist_, then jerked it to one side, slicing outwards and sending the quickly-dying black-robe to the floor. She raised the sword again.

Akara finally couldn't help it anymore, she turned her head to one side and lunged away from Raistlin, falling to the floor -- away from Victoria as her skull was cleaved in two upon the stone with a sound not unlike a melon being broken in half -- and vomited. Raistlin merely crouched down beside her, shielding her from the sight -- if not the sound -- and placed a slender golden hand against the stab-wound in her side, trying to put pressure on it. She shoved him away, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and staggering to her feet, intending to _run_ and run and never, ever stop.

When her gaze fell as though drawn on the scene in front of her, her legs nearly gave out, and she shrank back against the wall, staring, shaking uncontrollably as the blood seemed to drain out of her much faster than before. On the floor was a corpse, but not the one she'd expected. Victoria Krinir looked as a corpse decayed and preserved for _hundreds of years_, shrunken flesh barely clinging to bone, dried eyes staring up around the broadsword embedded in her skull. Standing over the slain abomination was Alleyana, her eyes gleaming colder than even death itself, and she bent and placed the item in her other hand upon the ancient corpse, almost reverently.

A white rose.

If one could think that Alley's reverence may have been for Victoria, one would be quickly disabused of the notion as Alleyana jerked her sword free and wiped it clean on old, rotten black robes, sheathing it before stepping away and glancing towards Akara. The thief gasped harshly, realizing she'd been staring in a peculiar morbid entrancement, as the Weaponsmaster nodded to her and then looked to Raistlin. Everything seemed to move too slowly, as though through water, sounds hitting Akara's ears after they should have, the world muted and dim. _Shock,_ she realized numbly, _so this is what real shock feels like._ "I'll send Jones," Alley grunted, and then she simply strode out of sight as though this was a normal, every day occurrence, leaving Akara alone with Raistlin, the corpse, and the rose.

Akara Krinir was not given to fainting, but today had warranted it. Her world went strangely white, like the petals of the flower, and then the blood rushing in her ears became _deafening_ and she felt herself caught in slender arms and lowered, bleeding and gasping, to the floor. And after that, she didn't see or hear or feel much of anything at all for a while.

* * *

Raistlin lowered the unconscious thief to the floor, careful to maneuver her to avoid any of the... fluids on the ground, and went back to putting pressure on the stab-wound, waiting for the doctor to arrive. While his knife was reasonably long, he'd kept the angle carefully shallow, knowing intimately how to avoid anything vital, and so he wasn't particularly worried about the wound itself. The archmage held pressure with one hand and raised the other to Akara's face, brushing her hair back in unspoken, un-seen apology. Alleyana almost hadn't gotten here in time, despite his stalling...

He looked up when Jones came into view, her bag of medical supplies in hand. The doctor gave Victoria's ancient corpse a cursory once-over, not looking at all surprised, her odd amber gaze resting on the white rose for a moment before she stepped past it and came to a crouch beside Raistlin. "You knew," Raistlin murmured, turning over the wound to the woman's small gloved hands, "you already knew that Victoria was a lich?"

Megan Jones ripped Akara's tunic open further around the wound, and bent closer to inspect it, pulling it open as it welled blood. Looking slightly annoyed at the inconvenience, she wiped the thick liquid away with a cloth from her bag, and then inserted a long, flat bit of metal into the wound to see how deep it was and at what angle it had been inflicted. "Of course I did," she commented, almost drawling in her monotone as she withdrew the instrument, "_surely_ you have been here long enough to hear the rumors about me, Majere? Victoria was not _my_ work, but the first-hand observation of such a creature is what has kept me here all these years."

"Necromancer," Raistlin rocked back on his heels, watching the doctor in a new light, aware of the irony as she withered and decayed in his vision. A regular mortal herself, unlike most Krynnish necromancers who tended to be their own experiment. "I strive to not simply accept rumors of that nature, doctor, particularly when they are whispered snidely of someone not well... understood. Your profession as a coroner was not enough proof for me, I have known others who dissected the dead."

Jones' odd gaze went from the wound she was cleaning out, to the corpse on the floor, and then to Raistlin for a moment before going back to the task at hand. If Alleyana had never seemed impressed with his stare, Megan Jones had always been disdainful of it. Small wonder, now, although she was disdainful of _everything_ from what he had observed. "I see your dagger, mage," Jones' monotone bit into the cold air of the library, "you will explain why you stabbed Akara, in detail." It was quite the demand, as lacking in societal posturing as ever. Raistlin considered for a moment what she would do if he refused to answer. Perhaps she would ask the _other_ witness? His eyes narrowed, going to the corpse briefly as well before fixing back on the doctor's gloved hands, smeared in Akara's blood.

"I would think it safe to assume that others have tried to kill Victoria before," he mused aloud, and was gratified by Jones' very slight nod. "They failed because of her shielding. Somehow, she maintained a powerful stoneskin at all times," Raistlin straightened, standing up and taking a few steps away, looking towards the fireplace where the fight between Victoria and Akara had taken place. "Even Akara, after Tannusen's death, could not pierce it; only her blood could touch Victoria's skin. That is how I knew. I was able to shatter her shields with a knife coated in Akara's blood, as fresh as possible, and Alleyana took care of the rest."

Jones was silent, beginning on the stitches in Akara's side. Raistlin didn't watch, he'd seen the doctor do far more... invasive things to Akara and he wasn't worried about a simple cleaning and stitching. Seeing the woman peel Akara's shoulder _apart_ as though she were a cadaver, re-aligning delicate bones by hand and securing them with metal rods... after assisting in a surgery more advanced than he was accustomed to being possible, he hardly doubted her skill with a _needle_.

Raistlin stepped nearer to the ancient cadaver, staring at it for a moment. Victoria's beauty had been unchanging, which had been suspect. Harold Krinir, Akara's blood father, had aged before his sight and so he had _known_ that Paladine's enchantment on Akara had not been made into a family trait. Making his own vision blur had revealed all that he'd needed to know, much as he'd done to unmask Councilor Shavas so long ago. Once again, his curse had proven to be another's downfall. "...Why a white rose?" Raistlin asked after long moments of silence went past, turning back towards the doctor-necromancer and the fallen thief. "I did not ask, and she did not explain."

"Tannusen," was all Jones said in answer, tying off a stitch with small, abrupt movements. The wound was still oozing blood, and she dabbed it away for a clean view of what she was doing. At the angle he'd pierced, it hadn't precisely _gushed_, although it had probably still _hurt_ like the Abyss. The small thread guilt he felt was shoved aside; he had granted Akara _revenge_, and revenge was far sweeter than the pain of any wound.

Raistlin spared the flower another glance, bending to retrieve his dagger and cleaning it off as Alley with had her sword, before tucking it back up his sleeve. "That would explain her... viciousness." The black-robe mused aloud. He had been a little surprised at the tactic she had taken, going through the throat, _twisting_, slicing out, and then going through the skull. His brother would have gone for her back and through the ribs to the heart, perhaps, or simply tried to go through her neck in one cleave... _if_ he could be convinced to actually _kill_ her in the first place, which was highly doubtful. Raistlin felt mildly impressed at the Weaponsmaster's utter lack of hesitation. It reminded him, a little, of his sister.

"She is efficient," Jones agreed flatly, applying some sort of cream to the stitched wound and then a thick pad of gauze, ripping the abused tunic further so that she could wrap bandages around the thief, tying them off expertly. When this was done, the doctor made quick work of inspecting Akara's abused shoulder, frowning faintly and tucking the thief's arm back into its forgotten sling.

Then she lifted her bag and stood, her form far too small to have the strength to move the unconscious Krinir. The arms under Jones' stark black clothing were even thinner than Raistlin's, and she had little bulk to speak of. It was a wonder she could even lift what she did on a regular basis. Megan stared at him for a moment, as though contemplating some sort of strange bug, and then nodded to something past his shoulder.

Alleyana stepped into view as though she'd been waiting to do so, striding grimly for the thief on the ground.

Raistlin managed to not startle... much. He hadn't expected the scar-faced woman to be waiting on hand, although he realized that he should have. _Someone_ had to move Akara's unconscious form away from all the blood and brains and vomit, and it had always been one of the two half-siblings before. Now that Tannusen was dead and gone... "You'll be going soon," Alleyana said, interrupting his thoughts as she knelt down to scoop Akara up from the stone floor.

It didn't sound like one, but Raistlin treated it as though it was a question, and nodded. "As soon as she is able to travel, yes." And he paused, thoughtful, before looking at both the doctor and the warrior, "...I could transport you both as well, if it pleases you to leave Krontis."

"Heh," Alley seemed amused by this, though her faint smirk was a grim one as she walked for the door with Akara dangling from her arms, her broadsword tight against her back, "you'd inflict us on Krynn, hm?"

Jones for her own part said nothing, only shooting him a disdainful glance before also striding for the way out, her boots clicking hollowly on the floor. The coroner was the only one who made significant noise, although Raistlin still felt loud compared to the warrior, who was a far cry from the jangling, creaking, stomping fools he was so used to as sword-wielders. If Alleyana wore armor at all beneath her loose, plain clothing, then it was finely-made indeed to not make a sound.

The archmage trailed casually after the women. "Krynn has done me no favors, whereas both of you have been invaluable." It was a simple enough equation to _him_, and what did he care if it could cause trouble for the world? Raistlin was a black-robe, one who had successfully broken ties with even the Conclave, and they _had_ proven to be quite useful. Krynn would manage.

Megan Jones gave a faint, delicate snort. "I think not," the disdain from her glance had leeched into her flat voice, her stride not slowing. "Krynn is a barbaric, filthy land. _You_ may find it appealing, but I assure you that I do _not_." The insult after his gesture of good will was stinging, not really easily ignored, but after so many weeks of dealing off and on with the caustic doctor, Raistlin had learned to simply grit his teeth and bear it, or her tongue would only grow sharper. She was far too useful to simply drop into the middle of a lake as he was sometimes tempted to do.

Jones split up with them outside of the library without another word, striding off in the direction of her office. Raistlin turned his gaze to Alleyana next, who merely shot him a look over her shoulder, and responded with a faint shrug, "Krynn doesn't have enough coffee." And that was all she said about it, pausing to let Raistlin push open the door to Akara's room, once they were there, and carrying the thief inside.

Once Akara was deposited safely onto the bed, the Weaponsmaster turned and left, just as abrupt as she always was. Raistlin dimly wondered if he was the only person around who had any sort of social grace, between the various quirks of the warrior, the doctor, and the thief.

The irony was not lost on him.

* * *

Akara was going to die. She was going to _die._ Gunfire exploded in her mind, the sharp reports of six-shot revolvers emptying in her direction. No, not just her direction, but Tannusen's. Tannusen was going to _die_. Blood steamed in the air, an explosion wracked the earth around her as she ran, the smell of burning flesh... and she ran, and ran, and when she found Raistlin he was cooking pieces of Tannusen's body against metal bars, and he turned towards her with a knife in his blood-streaked hand and a sly smile on his lips...

_Akara was going to die._

She screamed, and struggled as something warm -- too warm -- wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her close and she _shoved_ with her one free arm and -- it -- wasn't -- enough. Breathing so fast that it hurt, Akara jerked her head back and opened her eyes, suddenly sharply awake, and nearly shrieked again to see that it was _Raistlin_ embracing her. The scent of cooking human flesh still filled her mind. "Get away from me!" she gasped, shoving again, harder, feeling something _pull_ sharply in her side that suddenly hurt so bad it left her breathless and weak, and her struggles ceased.

Raistlin remained, lifting a hand to her hair. Instead of being soothed, Akara felt her skin crawl and she clenched her eyes shut. He'd _stabbed_ her! Her free hand moved weakly to her bandaged side, feeling the familiar pinch of tiny stitches beneath. The number of scars she picked up when around Raistlin was astonishing, she thought dimly, oddly detached. First the teeth marks on her wrist when he'd been sick, then the crossbow bolt in the back of her shoulder, the poisoned sword slash on her arm; the marks left from protruding bone and subsequent surgery on her left shoulder; the ring of fingers around her neck... and now a goddamned stab wound in the side. If she'd _had_ an opinion on her body before, it surely would have plummeted with all the brand new shiny, disfigured-looking scar tissue. It wasn't going to be a pretty sight.

"...I mean it," Akara clenched her teeth, coming back to real-time, "let go and back the fuck off, Majere!" How was she supposed to get the room to _think_ if he was holding her so close like some kind of... of_...!_ His hand continued to stroke her hair, and she ducked her head to get away from it, burrowing against his thin chest. That _wasn't_ the desired outcome. "L-let go!"

"I refuse," Raistlin's soft whisper somehow reached her ears over the sound of her own panic. His fingers followed after her bowed head, sliding over and over through her hair, _petting_ her like he might a pet rabbit, his other arm like a band of steel around her shoulders. They were on their sides on the bed, on top of the blankets, dried blood from her torn-up tunic flaking off onto the bedspread.

"St... stop it!" Akara tried to lunge _down_ and under his arm and _back_, but the archmage merely grabbed a fist full of her hair and stopped her mid-movement, tears of pain and frustration beading in the corners of her eyes. "Why do you always do this shit!" she gasped, struggling fitfully as he hauled her back up to his shoulder, "You _always do this!_ I don't _belong_ to you, Majere, you can't just manhandle me as you see fit! Let _go!_"

"You do not?" Raistlin mused aloud, his fingers going back to stroking through her hair, "Hmm..." The archmagus' tone made her want to claw his eyes out, suddenly. So condescending! And then the grip in her hair was tight again, pulling her head up, and his lips still tasted faintly of her blood. Akara froze, her heartbeat increasing like it only seemed to do around Majere, and she tried twice more to shove away before giving up and holding still, the velvet tip of his tongue stroking past her lips, their breaths mingling. When he pulled back, she almost followed, except that sly little half-smile was there and she froze, his words sliding over her, "I think... that I would beg to differ."

Beg to differ? About _what?_ Akara's half-scrambled brain dug in for traction and made the connection, and she felt her eyes narrow to slits. So he thought he owned her, did he? "Fuck you," she hissed, "you _stabbed_ me! You can just fuck the fuck right off!" This time, she got her hand up to his chin and shoved his head up and back while trying to push away, her fingers splayed on his jaw so that he couldn't simply turn his head and break free. "Let go of me!"

He finally released her, his snarl felt against her fingertips. She pushed back and toppled off the bed, hitting the floor with a dull thump and a small squeak of pain. But Akara kept the momentum and continued her movement, raising her legs as she fell onto her back and _twisting_ to roll up, over her _good_ shoulder, her boots touching down on the stone floor, lifting herself to her feet without the use of her arms. Raistlin was watching her with interest from the bed, not having had the opportunity to move yet, and she raised her hand to her head and staggered as the dizziness _spiked_--

When Raistlin moved to throw his legs over the edge of the bed and get up, Akara snarled at him and stepped back, adrenalin sharpening her gaze as she darted for the neat pile of saddlebags, bending and coming back up quickly with one of Grissom's knives in her hand. She held it between them as she backed up further, the archmage approaching slowly. "Akara," he murmured, holding out his hands, one toward her and one off to the side. She noticed he'd changed his clothes while she was unconscious, back to the thick velvet robes with the wide, sweeping sleeves. "Victoria is defeated," he whispered to her, stepping closer as she stepped back again, "I have given you the revenge that I promised."

"So you're done with me now, right?" Akara hated how shaky her voice was, and she lifted the knife to chest-level, held forward in her one hand as he continued to approach, and she had to stop retreating as her back bumped into a wall. "S-stay back!"

"Akara," Raistlin continued to approach, and he looked at the knife for a moment, then smirked faintly, "...the scabbard is still on." In response, Akara's eyes flicked down to the weapon, realizing he was right, and her face heated. She moved as fast as she could to pull the knife back and let her sling-held arm grab the scabbard, and barely had it unsheathed before he was on her, pressing her back against the wall. He didn't move to wrestle the knife from her, though, his hands moving to hold the sides of her head. She pressed the blade to his back as he bent to brush against her lips again. "You will not hurt me," he whispered, "but I would suppose that if you did, it would only be fair. Here," and he drew back a little, his fingers going to his robe, undoing hidden ties to open it to the waist and letting the heavy velvet hang from his thin shoulders, exposing the golden skin stretched over his frail, scholarly frame.

"Cut, if you like," he murmured softly, his gaze intent on her face, his arms held out to his sides, "stab, even. But know that in exchange, I will take your hand. You _will_ be mine." It was such a dramatic gesture, domineering even at the same time as it was slightly reckless, but this was Raistlin Majere and that was how he approached life itself. Akara stared at him, clutching the knife between them again, the blade gleaming sharp in the light.

"You're fucking crazy," Akara spluttered, shrinking back against the wall as he drew nearer again, the knife-point lowering. She couldn't--! But something sparked in his expression, making her eyes narrow. _He doesn't think I'll do it!_ she realized, _Majere's _toying_ with me, even while I point a knife at him!_ 'You will not hurt me', he'd said. Akara snarled, and lunged forward and up with her bent elbow just below his throat, shoving him back a step and then bringing the knife _down_ with her arm.

At first, there was nothing but Raistlin's shocked gasp, his hands held numbly to either side, hourglass pupils dilating slightly. And then the golden skin split like a seam, welling blood, the crimson line running razor-thin from his right collarbone to his left hip. It wasn't a deep cut, just enough to split the skin and bleed a little, the edge of the Magekiller's knife just as deadly-sharp as it had been in her memory-dreams, and Akara bared her teeth at him in the face of his shock. "Don't toy with me, Majere!" she hissed, "Don't you _dare_ forget that I'm just as crazy as you are! Now back _off!_"

Raistlin raised a hand to his chest, dabbing at the blood with his fingertips and looking down at the shallow wound. The smile that twitched onto his lips wasn't one Akara had seen before, and she realized her mistake right as the mage made a sharp gesture and whispered a single word, the knife tearing out of her grasp and imbedding in the far wall. "I am so glad," he murmured silkily, and grabbed her hand while she stared after the weapon in shock, "that you accepted my proposal so quickly."

And before she could react, he drew her near, pulling her flat against his slowly-bleeding front, holding her hand high and setting his other on the small of her back. "Shall we?" Raistlin asked, his odd little smile having turned decidedly smug, his eyes half-lidded.

Akara couldn't find the words to protest as she was pulled along into a dance that she had taught him herself, his blood mingling with hers on her tattered clothing.

-- --: -x- :-- --  
Dragonlance belongs to someone else.  
All here that is not found in the books... is mine.  
Never steal if you value your spleen.  
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